


Like Acting, But Sadder

by Aaron_The_8th_Demon



Series: Problems With No Good Answers [1]
Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Cuddling & Snuggling, Friends to Lovers, I jumped on the "Harry has chickens" bandwagon, Ignores Season 3, Lodge dodge, M/M, Major spoilers for the end of Season 2, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-18 01:14:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21502858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaron_The_8th_Demon/pseuds/Aaron_The_8th_Demon
Summary: Harry's struggle to free Cooper from BOB and deal with the mess left behind after.
Relationships: Dale Cooper/Harry Truman
Series: Problems With No Good Answers [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1590280
Comments: 34
Kudos: 53





	1. Concussion Protocol

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A long way home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7123735) by [scipianne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scipianne/pseuds/scipianne). 
  * Inspired by [The Taste of Coffee](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18156536) by [desperately_human](https://archiveofourown.org/users/desperately_human/pseuds/desperately_human). 



> Inspired by the two works listed above. This is, in many places, an homage to *The Taste Of Coffee*, which is an excellent fic that deserves to be read by everyone and one of my very favorites written for these two. Without that incredible story this one would probably not exist at all.
> 
> There are intense sequences of violence in the first chapter. Proceed with caution if this bothers you.

Blood, everywhere.

It’s not all his blood. Some of it’s Dale’s. Harry knows he’s bleeding all over the place but he can’t feel it, which is weird. Dale’s forehead is red, there’s a gash in the skin there. His blood mixes with Harry’s blood as they fight. But Harry’s not fighting Dale. This isn’t Dale, Dale’s not in charge of his own body. Harry is trying to hold off _Bob_ and _Bob_ is trying to kill him. There’s a piece of mirror buried in his shoulder.

There’s three tiny advantages that Harry has right now, all tying into each other. The first is that _Bob_ normally goes after young women, smaller and lighter and less capable than him, so he’s used to easily taking down his prey. The second is that while Dale is very well trained in several types of combat, _Bob_ doesn’t have access to that and is simply thrashing at Harry with varying levels of effectiveness. The third is that Dale is a damn fencepost - there’s only an inch in height difference between them, but Harry’s physically the stronger of the two.

Meanwhile he also has a giant chunk of glass sticking out of his body. Besides that, he doesn’t want to hurt his friend. _Bob_ might be in charge but Dale’s still in there. Harry can’t do any lasting damage even though he’s the target of a murder attempt right now. He needs to hang on long enough for help to arrive. Harry needs to resist _Bob_ until Andy and Hawk get here, but without hurting Dale. Way more easily said than done.

Dale’s eyes are wrong… not that they’ve changed color or anything, they’re just _wrong._ This is the closest Harry’s ever gotten to seeing _Bob_ ’s real face. A distortion. There’s hands around his throat. He got distracted and now he’s going to die. The pain finally comes where he got stabbed. He can’t do anything. Harry panics when his lungs can’t draw in more air. He’s going to die. He has to do something. It stops mattering that this is Dale. It stops mattering that this is his friend. His fist goes into something soft - abdomen. _Bob_ wasn’t expecting it. Harry can breathe again.

Hawk comes running in right as Harry’s cuffing Dale to the footboard of the hotel bed. _Bob_ is barely moving at all, mostly grumbling things and gasping for air.

“Harry… Doc Hayward said it was bad, but…”

“Call an ambulance,” Harry orders. He’s not interested in anything anyone has to say about the situation right now.

“Your shoulder-”

“Can wait, Hawk. Call an ambulance for him, I think I hurt him pretty bad.”

“How?”

“I punched him in the gut and he just dropped… Hawk, _ambulance._ ”

“Okay.”

* * *

“He has a ruptured spleen,” Doc Hayward explains while stitching Harry’s shoulder. “That’s a hell of a punch you threw.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

“He’s in surgery. Once he gets out we’re going to keep him tranquilized until you can put him in a cell.”

“Will, that’s not Coop.”

“I know. That doesn’t change anything.”

Harry nods. “Do you still have Phillip Gerard here?”

“Yes, we do.”

“Can you write a scrip for Coop that’s the same thing he’s on? Maybe it’ll hold _Bob_ off.”

“I guess we can try that, but it needs to wait until he’s in custody if it doesn’t work.”

“Okay.”

“Harry, are you going to be alright?”

He doesn’t understand the question. “What do you mean?”

“You two got so close so quickly, and I know you’re not anywhere near over losing Josie. I don’t want to say we’ve already lost Agent Cooper to _Bob,_ but… it’s possible. There’s not much we can do for this situation.”

“He’s still alive. As long as he’s alive there’s something we can do to help him, we just have to figure out what it is.”

Doc Hayward gives him an awful look, full of pity. “Well, I hope you come up with something. When I’m done patching you up you’re going to have to take everything out of one of your jail cells and set it up like it’s for a violent psychiatric patient, try to get rid of anything he could hurt himself with.”

“I was going to cuff him to the bunk anyway.”

“Even so.”

“Doc, it’s a jail cell, there’s already nothing in it.”

“Someone should watch him at all hours, too, after what _Bob_ did to Leland. I’ll definitely look into that prescription for him, though.”

* * *

“ _Mike_ is still attacking me,” _Bob_ grumbles from the corner. “His vile concoctions…”

“Yeah, you better get used to that idea,” Harry says, as dismissively as he possibly can. Inside, it bothers him. Dale’s still trapped in there somewhere and they need to get him free. “You can leave on your own or we can keep this up until the end of time.”

“Oh, but he’s so much better than any of my other hosts,” _Bob_ answers with a leering grin. “Young but strong, healthy. And he’s so afraid, let me right in. Now he gets to sit and watch while I torment you until you give up.”

Harry refuses to react. It’ll only make things worse. It’s hard, though, because this hurts to hear. He wants his friend to come back. “Well, you won’t stay strong and healthy lying around in a cell.”

“Leland died from brain trauma, you know… it’s not so hard.”

“Yeah, but now we know you’ll try that and we’ll stop you from doing it again. You’re stuck in there and there’s nothing you can do about it but leave him behind and go torture somebody else.”

“It’s too much fun,” _Bob_ snickers. “You’re not fooling anybody. You hate this and your fear is delicious.”

“Sure.”

Harry opens his newspaper and leans back in the chair he brought down with him, keeping one eye on the words and one on Dale. He refuses to look at that handsome face and associate it with _Bob_ as long as he can help it, because Dale’s in there too, just not in control. Dale, whose spleen Harry ruptured two days ago. He still doesn’t feel good about that and he never will.

“He’s in pain you know,” _Bob_ sneers. “Do you always hit the people you love this hard, or is he special like that?”

“I didn’t hit him, I hit _you,_ ” Harry snaps, forgetting until it’s too late that he’s not supposed to let himself get provoked.

“I think we both know that’s just not true.” That distortion flickers again in Dale’s eyes, the wrongness that Harry can’t describe. “You put his life in danger, he could’ve bled to death under his own skin after you did that to him.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t, so it doesn’t matter.” Harry’s definitely only interested in convincing himself of that one.

“It does matter. Even if I let him go someday, how can he be around you after that when you could’ve killed him? How can you keep being friends after a ruptured spleen? What if he starts to be scared of you after this? That guy in the suit with the sunglasses was right about you, you’re a dumb brute. You hurt the people you love. Maybe it’s by accident most of the time, but not this time. When you hit him you did it on purpose.”

“You really think saying crap like that’s gonna make me let you out? It just makes me want to keep your ass locked up even more.”

Harry goes back to his newspaper. They’ve decided to rotate in four-hour shifts, which means he has three hours and fifty four minutes to go before Hawk takes over. Hawk will definitely do a better job at this than him - that man’s unshakable and actually knows how this insanity works.

* * *

“Harry.” Shaking. “ _Harry._ ”

“Huh?”

He jerks upright, wiping the corner of his mouth - he drooled on his desk in his sleep. Luckily there was no paperwork there to get ruined. That would be embarrassing.

“We managed to get the medication worked out,” Doc Hayward informs him.

“Oh. Good. Can I get coffee first?”

“Sure.”

Harry hasn’t been going home much in the last week and a half. He needs to be here in case something happens with Dale.

“Sheriff, are you feeling okay?” Andy asks quietly as Harry comes into the kitchen and pours himself a mug.

“I just woke up.” He burns his mouth swallowing it all at once but doesn’t care. He’s in a hurry. “Let’s go.”

The three of them head down to the cells where Hawk is guarding. _Bob_ watches them from behind Dale’s eyes with a sneer. Harry kind of wishes he could glare back sometimes, but he can’t. That’s still Dale. Which just makes it worse that Andy and Hawk both point their guns at Dale while Harry goes in the cell and holds him in place so that Doc Hayward can inject him. The thrashing starts right away like with _Mike_ and then comes the howling, which is bad enough that Harry has to cover his ears.

It doesn’t take that long, thankfully, until Dale stops moving. He’s sprawled half-on and half-off the cell bunk, looking up at them.

“Harry I feel unwell.”

Harry’s so relieved he can’t stay standing and sits on the floor beside his friend. “Yeah, we expected that.”

“This can only be a temporary solution… we’ve seen what happens when Mr. Gerard misses a dose of this medication.”

“Yeah.” Harry wordlessly directs the other three men to leave. They’re locked into the cell together and Hawk waits down the hall while Andy and Doc Hayward disappear altogether. “Coop, we’re gonna figure something out to fix this.”

“I have great faith in your abilities. However the means to remove a being such as _Bob_ from a human host have yet to reveal themselves to us. As uncomfortable as I am with this idea, it seems that a hostile entity has taken up permanent residence inside my headspace.”

“Coop. We’ll figure this out.”

Dale shakes his head a little and finishes sliding to the floor in a pile. His eyes find Harry’s face. “Judging by the amount of time that’s passed I can only assume _Bob_ enjoys staying in my pajamas indefinitely.”

Harry can’t help laughing, but he’s pretty sure that’s the point. He sits Dale upright and puts an arm across his shoulders. “I think your clothes are all still at the hotel… we didn’t want to risk giving _Bob_ anything he could try to strangle you or one of us with.”

“Understandable.”

“Look, Coop… _Bob_ tried to kill me in your hotel room, so… we don’t really have a choice but to keep you in here until we can get rid of him. I don’t like it, but we can’t take chances.”

“Equally understandable. Harry, you don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“Dale-”

“Harry. It’s alright.”

* * *

“He is near,” _Mike_ rumbles as he’s brought into the station.

“Yeah, he is,” Harry nods. “How do we get him out of a person?”

“With great difficulty… inhabiting spirits are often removed only of their own violation. Rarely can they be forced. This interest you have - _Bob_ has stolen a loved one from you.”

Harry doesn’t know how to answer that, but apparently it’s answer enough to say nothing.

“Ah… yes, he enjoys using this against you. So long as you have him trapped he will continue in his relentless ways.”

“I figured that out for myself.”

“There may be a means of removal.”

“Great! What?”

“It would require you to trust me a great deal. We would return him to the other world. I may finally stop _Bob._ ”

“And Dale comes back free?”

“It is possible. He may be harmed in the process. He may perish entirely.”

“No. There has to be something else.”

“You may leave him as he is, in torment.”

Harry shakes his head. “There’s gotta be something else.”

“You have two options.”

It’s starting to make him mad, how _Mike_ is so calm talking about Dale possibly getting killed during the removal of _Bob._

“There’s gotta be something else,” he tries again.

“There isn’t. Choose.”

Harry knows, in some dark part of himself that he doesn’t want to think about, which one Dale will pick. Dale doesn’t want to be stuck like this, trapped in a jail cell with a monster inhabiting his body. Dale will go with possible death instead of staying the way he is.

“What do we have to do?”

“Return to the circle. Ensure _Bob_ cannot run free. They must be placed with me inside the circle. From there, I may take _Bob_ back where he belongs.”

“What about Dale?”

“He will be returned to you eventually… state of health notwithstanding, you will see him again.”

“Now you listen to me, _Mike._ You need to do your absolute best to bring him back alive.”

“I have little say. There are many things that may have an affect. It depends on the Lodge.”

“You need to get him back to me,” Harry demands.

“I cannot make such promises.” _Mike_ eyes him. “But you may have an affect. You have many feelings about _Bob_ ’s current vessel… sit at the boundary to the barrier as we enter it. Think only of those feelings.”

“What? How will that help?”

“Perhaps you do not understand your own motivations.” _Mike_ ’s gaze is fixed on him and it makes his skin prickle. “Speak to him about what is to come.”

Thank god. Harry leaves _Mike_ in the conference room with Andy and heads for Dale’s cell.

“Coop we might have a… solution.”

“Why the uncertainty, Harry?”

“Because it could kill you.”

Dale frowns. “I see.”

“You would have to go back into the Black Lodge. _Mike_ will take you there and try to get you and _Bob_ to separate.” Harry reaches a hand through the bars and Dale takes hold of it, watching him. “You might get hurt. You might… die. There’s no way to know.”

The last couple of days were really hard - Dale became himself again but was still penned in, sitting behind bars in his pajamas and wondering if there was any possibility for him to have a shower. Watching this was horrible for Harry, he wanted so bad to take his friend out of there for only a few minutes to have just that one thing, but he couldn’t because there was no way to know if _Bob_ could suddenly overcome the medication and attack somebody. It’s one thing to keep _Bob_ locked in a cell and knowing _Bob_ was the one in control. But Dale did nothing to deserve this kind of treatment.

“Harry, you should know…”

“What?”

He’s not expecting it. The hand he’s holding onto is around his wrist. He’s yanked forward by his arm to crash into the bars.

“You’re so gullible,” _Bob_ snarls. “No wonder Josie tricked you for so long.”

Harry doesn’t have any way to stop _Bob_ from pulling him into the bars again, even harder this time. His face bounces off one and white flashes behind his eyes.

“Hawk!” Harry manages to bellow before he’s smashed into them a third time and blood starts gushing from his nose.

Arms grab around his chest and he’s dragged out of _Bob_ ’s grip. He’s in pain and his head doesn’t seem to be working right since the walls are moving around his eyes, but Harry’s not thinking about any of that. It was an act. _Bob_ had him tricked into thinking Dale was present again, in control. The medicine never worked in the first place. The last three days he’s been talking to _Bob_ and completely letting his guard down. He really is just that stupid.

 _Bob_ now sits cross-legged on the floor of the cell with his hands folded in his lap, watching them with a hungry and delighted grin. Harry stumbles to his feet and once he’s steady enough to walk he can’t get away from there fast enough.

* * *

“You must learn not to be afraid,” _Mike_ growls at him as they walk.

“Yeah? How am I supposed to not be scared when you keep saying it could kill him?”

“You must learn not to be afraid,” _Mike_ repeats. “Fear will increase that chance… instead consider your love for _Bob_ ’s host. It may be the most important factor.”

Dale is pushed along by Andy and Hawk - he’s loaded up on some tranquilizer courtesy of Doc Hayward so that _Bob_ can’t fight back, but he’s also barefoot in his pajamas being needlessly manhandled. Harry wonders if they forgot that it’s not _Bob_ who they’re pulling and shoving there. They’re putting a friend back into hell and there’s no need for this rough treatment.

Dale gets more or less tossed into the circle of sycamore trees and _Mike_ follows behind, grabbing him by the neck and dragging him through the curtains that materialize. Harry can only watch, just like how he watched about two weeks ago when Dale willingly walked into that nightmare. He wasn’t sure back then that Dale would ever come out. This time Harry’s not sure if Dale will still be breathing when he returns.

“Harry, I think you should sit,” Doc Hayward tells him.

Oh, right. He has a concussion and shouldn’t be standing and moving around this much until it goes away. It also amounted to Hawk waking him up every hour last night, so now he’s exhausted to go with it. This means sitting on the same log in the same spot as the first time. Harry hates everything about this situation.

“Harry, Cooper’s spirit is strong,” Hawk murmurs, sitting beside him. “I have a good feeling he’ll survive and come back to you.”

“Why were you shoving him?”

“…Harry, he was resisting. We didn’t want to, but those drugs weren’t quite strong enough to make him cooperative.”

Was _Bob_ fighting them? Harry’s not sure. He has a headache.

“I thought it was him until yesterday.”

“I know. So did I. None of us expected this.”

“How will we know if this works?”

“We could ask Sarah Palmer as a last resort. She’d know.”

Harry’s really not interested in putting that poor woman through such an ordeal. “Only if we absolutely have to.”

“I think you might be unwell for some time after this. Anyone surviving two murder attempts would be.”

“Hawk, I’m fine. I just want Coop to come back safe.”

He wonders how long this’ll take. Dale needed two days to pop into reality from wherever he went the first time… Harry doesn’t know if he can handle that again.

* * *

They’ve been feeding him coffee but he still ended up passing out at some point, which means Hawk shaking him awake. “Harry. Harry, get up.”

Lights hit his face when he pulls himself upright, red and blue, flashing. An ambulance. It’s dark under the trees but he can see the paramedics shuffling Dale onto their stretcher.

“Is he okay?” Harry demands as he runs over.

“Sheriff, we need to move him,” one of the medics insists, trying to push him back instead of answering.

Close enough now, he’s able to get a good look at the blood running out of Dale’s ears and nose. “Jesus, _Coop_ -”

“Sheriff, please!”

Harry shoves the paramedic away and reaches out with his hands to do… something. He’s not sure what. Nothing seems like it’s the right thing. Dale’s eyes open and Harry expects those to be bleeding too, but thankfully they aren’t.

“Harry…” Dale whispers.

“Coop, is _Bob_ gone?”

Dale says nothing. His eyes roll closed again and finally the paramedics cart him away to the hospital.


	2. All That Pain Has To Live Somewhere

“Sheriff?”

“Yeah, Lucy.”

“Doc Hayward is here to see you.”

“Send him in.”

Harry knocks back his shot of whiskey and hides the small glass in his desk. Nobody needs to know that he’s drinking in his office.

“Harry, you have to go see him,” Doc Hayward insists as soon as the door’s closed.

“Not interested.”

“He’s not doing well. You need to see him.”

“Doc-”

“Harry, the psychiatric unit at the hospital is eight beds. All seven of the other patients are afraid of him and so are the nurses. He’ll only talk to me, and he keeps saying he wants to see you.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Will, _I ruptured his spleen._ ”

“He still wants to see you. You need to go.”

“Still not interested.”

Doc Hayward glares at him. “Harry, do you really think I’m going to let you sit in here and drink yourself to death? You owe it to him and to yourself to just pay him a damn visit.”

“I haven’t been drinking,” he lies.

“I can smell the whiskey from the door. You’re not fooling anybody.”

“Two weeks is too long. I don’t have a good excuse.”

“You don’t need one, just go see him.” A sigh. “Harry… why are you doing this to yourself? You’re smart enough to know better, and it didn’t work after Josie passed so why do you think it’s working now?”

Dale’s the one who came and found him after Josie died and got him to come back to reality. But Dale can’t come for him this time. Harry doesn’t want to talk about this. “I’ll go see him tomorrow morning.”

“Good.”

“…he really only talks to you? Nobody else?”

“When Dr. Jacoby comes into his room he just curls up into a ball.”

“What about other people visiting him?”

“Lucy and Andy go see him every other night, he doesn’t say anything to them but he lets them talk to him at least. They bring him food from the diner, which probably helps. The hospital kitchen is atrocious.”

“So should I… do that, then?”

“If you want. There’s no rules against you bringing him food.” Doc Hayward sighs a little. “You should probably know that I’m being a little generous by saying he talks to me. He just asks ‘when’s Harry coming to see me?’ That’s it. Maybe you can get him to talk for real when you go tomorrow.”

“I’ll… see what I can do.”

* * *

Harry tries not to choke on his own voice. “I’m here to see Agent Cooper.”

“Okay, Sheriff. Do you have your gun on you right now?” the nurse at the counter asks.

“No, I left it in my office, I figured you wouldn’t want it here.”

“Okay. What did you bring in with you?”

“Just… coffee. A couple pieces of pie. Stuff he likes.”

“Alright. Is there a fork in there? We have to give him a plastic one.”

“Oh.” He puts the box on the counter and surrenders the fork. “Thanks.”

“He’s in bed four.”

Harry’s boots are made of lead as he walks up the hall of the psychiatric unit. It’s small and the walls are a pukey green color, four doors on each side with the nurses’ station at one end and a window over the parking lot at the other. He knocks on the door to Dale’s room before opening it.

“Hey, Coop.” Harry can only look at him for a second and a half before his eyes find the linoleum floor. “I. Brought you some food. And coffee. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

He’s not expecting Dale to actually talk to him. “It’s alright, Harry.” The words are so quiet he almost doesn’t catch them. “I understand why you don’t want to see me.”

“I don’t - not want to see you, Coop. I thought you wouldn’t want to see _me._ I hurt you, and then I put you back in that place, and… I let _Bob_ trick me. I’m gullible. I’m a gullible fool and it seems like people trick me a lot these days.”

“ _Bob_ is a phenomenal actor and you aren’t equipped with the same set of mental tools as I am. I don’t blame you. As far as the spleen goes, it’s largely inconsequential. Physically I’ve returned to a state of perfect health.”

“Doc Hayward says you won’t talk to anyone.”

“It makes me apprehensive and so I avoid it… I’m plagued by a sensation of something having been stolen from me. _Bob_ took something with him on his way out. If I speak with people, they’ll know what I lost.”

“What did you lose?”

“I’m not entirely sure.” Dale reaches out and Harry flinches away without meaning to. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t be. What were you…?”

“I was under the assumption you brought that coffee for me.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah I did. Here. There’s a couple pieces of pie and some donuts, too.”

“Harry Truman, you are a saint.”

Harry chuckles. “Not really. I just figured you could use a pick-me-up.”

Dale takes dignified sips of his coffee, clearly savoring it. “Mm. This by itself works wonders for my mental state.”

“I thought it would.” He fidgets a little and sighs quietly, almost to himself. “Coop… I’m real sorry for everything. I almost killed you by hitting you there.”

“Harry, don’t. I stabbed you and I throttled you and I gave you a concussion. You have absolutely nothing to apologize for.”

“You didn’t do any of that, though. _Bob_ tried to kill me.”

“Using me as a vehicle to do so. I have a persistent sense that this is how people under the influence of drugs must feel, to watch yourself acting in a way you would never normally act and being unable to stop it from happening. I wanted to stop _Bob._ I thought I was stronger than that.”

“You know, thinking like that Leland should’ve kept _Bob_ from killing his daughter.” Harry forces himself to make eye contact. He’s afraid of the distortion still being there, the wrongness, but it’s not. “Coop, you didn’t do any of that to me.”

“But you fear me now, Harry. You certainly don’t mean to, and I know you wish you didn’t, but the fact remains that my presence is making you extremely uncomfortable. And for very good reason. I would feel a similar discomfort if Windom Earle was still alive and I was inhabiting the same space as him.”

“You’re not Windom Earle,” Harry argues. “And I’m not scared of you, Coop. I’m scared of _Bob._ He could hurt you, too, if he’s not really gone.”

“He’s gone, Harry. I promise he’s gone.” Dale seems like he’s trying to smile but can’t. “There were mentions of pie?”

“Yeah, here.” The box is passed across. There’s only a couple feet of space between them and Harry hates himself for wishing it was several yards instead. “Oh, Norma says thanks for rescuing her sister.”

“She never has to thank me for that. Harry, I wish you would stop feeling so ashamed. You’ve suffered multiple vicious attacks on your person that resulted in bodily harm.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Harry-”

“Dale, god dammit, it wasn’t your fault,” he insists.

Neither of them can look at the other one. Harry studies the dust on the toes of his boots.

“Harry I’d like to ask…”

“Sure, what is it?”

“In the cell. Why did you hold my hand?”

“Oh.” He swallows. “I figured… I told you that you might be killed trying to free you from _Bob,_ I figured it would bother you but you can’t hug someone through bars.”

“Yes, I see.”

“Are you… okay here? The nurses are scared of you.”

“They don’t mistreat me if that’s what you’re concerned about. I understand why this is necessary and I don’t resent my placement on this ward. Generally speaking my chief complaint, aside from the food, is loneliness and guilt.”

“You’re not guilty of anything.”

“We were fully prepared to prosecute Leland for _Bob_ ’s actions. By that logic, I’m guilty on two counts of the attempted murder of a law enforcement officer. Not to mention that said law enforcement officer is an incredible friend who is very near and dear to me. I’ll continue to feel guilty for that, Harry, regardless of your permission.”

“Coop…”

“Yes, Harry?”

“There’s no reason for me to say this because you’re not at fault, but I forgive you anyway. You’re forgiven. The end.”

“I’ll accept your forgiveness on the condition that you in turn drop the issue of my ruptured spleen. Now before you make the argument that you weren’t possessed by _Bob_ and were in complete control of your faculties, I’d like to point out that you were in the process of potentially being murdered. In that scenario it was purely an act of self-defense.”

“Okay.” Harry’s getting sick of this. He rubs his forehead. “Uh. Wasn’t there something else?”

“Yes. It’s lonely here. Andy and Lucy come to see me on a regular basis and I feel terrible for not being able to speak to them. I sit and nod while they talk in my general direction but experience the sensation of my jaws having been clamped together without my consent.”

“So how do you talk to me, then?”

“I suppose it’s because I’ve seen you in one of your most vulnerable moments. Therefore it makes no difference that you’re seeing me in mine.”

“What, we get to be pathetic together or something like that?”

“Yes, Harry. Something like that.”

He swallows. “If you’re that lonely, you want me to keep visiting?” Half of him is dying for an excuse to be where Dale is while the other half silently begs his friend to politely decline.

“If it causes you so much distress, I can’t ask that of you.”

“That’s not what I asked, Coop. Do you want me to keep visiting you here?”

“You don’t have to.”

“That’s still not what I asked. It’s a yes or no question.”

“If it won’t cause you further emotional damage, then yes, I would like that very much.”

“I don’t think you have to worry too much about emotional damage with me anymore. Everything’s already broken by now.”

“That, my friend, is a terrible shame. Emotions are often portrayed as demons to be feared in our society, but I’ve long suspected that living a fuller and more satisfying life is contingent on embracing them instead.”

“More wisdom from Tibet?”

“Not specifically, no. This is a conclusion I drew independently prior to my interest in Tibet and if I know myself well then I can confidently say that I’m an emotional creature by nature.”

“Mostly positive emotions, though.”

“No. Not lately.” Dale frowns and looks at his own folded hands. “There is a great well of fear present in me… I wasn’t aware of its existence until my initial entry into the Black Lodge. I can’t say for sure how it originated, but it gave _Bob_ exactly the window he required to commandeer me for his own ends.”

The door opens and Dr. Jacoby enters without knocking first. Dale curls in on himself with his head on his knees and his arms folded over top. Harry’s train of thought immediately jumps to a different set of tracks - he’s never thought of Special Agent Dale Cooper as someone in need of protecting. Before now Dale was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. But here in the psychiatric unit of Calhoun Memorial Hospital and wearing loose hospital pajamas that make him look even skinnier as he tries to hide from the lunatic shrink, he seems helpless. That’s a foreign concept and Harry can’t make it mesh with his friend, which means the situation has to get fixed.

“I heard him talking and took it as a good sign, apparently it wasn’t,” Dr. Jacoby comments, playing with the end of his tie.

“Maybe he just needs some space,” Harry suggests.

“If he doesn’t talk to me he won’t get the help he needs.”

“I’ll talk to him for you, Lawrence. I think you should go see your other patients in the meantime.”

Dr. Jacoby makes one of those weird faces he’s always wearing and Harry thinks he’ll argue, but he doesn’t. “Okay, then I’ll leave you fellas to it.”

Harry closes the door again after and takes a deep breath, then sits on the edge of the bed and pulls Dale sideways into a hug. He’s waiting for his friend to come out of hiding again.

* * *

“Will, I _can’t._ ”

“Harry, you have to.”

“Any time he gets near me and I’m not expecting it I flinch.”

“Harry. I called his supervisor. They’re giving Agent Cooper two more months to recover and after that there’s going to be a reevaluation of him to see if he can keep doing his job. Until that happens he’ll be here in Twin Peaks per his request, and staying in the hotel after what happened there is unacceptable.”

“I get off work every night, go see him in the hospital, get home and drink until I fall asleep. That’s not a good environment for a recovering mental patient. Doc, I’m probably the worst person you can stick him with.”

“If not you, then who can do it?” Doc Hayward questions.

“Did you even ask anyone besides me?”

“No. I thought he could count on you to help him out.”

“He scares me, Will.”

“I know he does. He scares everyone. He scares _me_ sometimes, and he knows it. The fact that he scares everyone is scary for him. But you’re closer to him than any of the rest of us are. It has to be you, Harry. Maybe it’ll help you be less afraid of him, and then he’ll start to recover. Besides, maybe helping him take care of himself will force you to take better care of _your_ self and you won’t drink so much.”

“I like drinking so much.”

“No you don’t, you drink because you’re unhappy.”

“And you think this won’t make me even more unhappy?” Harry demands. “How do we know _Bob_ is really gone? I’ll be looking over my shoulder every second he’s in my house waiting for him to shoot me with one of my own rifles.”

Doc Hayward is giving him a look. “Harry.” It’s said softly. “There’s no one else. You know it. I know it. Nobody else can take him. It has to be you.”

Unfortunately, it’s true. Harry theoretically has space in his home for another person and he has no obligations outside his job. He’s the man Dale trusts the most, relates to the most. They’ve been through a horrible experience together and despite everything they’re closer to each other than anybody else, especially since Harry’s been visiting him in the hospital every night for the last couple weeks.

But there’s other factors to consider. “Will, if _Bob_ ’s not really gone, he could kill me and nobody would notice. It might take days and by then he’d be loose.”

“Harry, please.”

This thought leads him to - better him, if _Bob_ is going to kill someone. He’s not seeing anyone. His brother and father live far away and don’t talk to him that often. Harry wouldn’t be missed if he died, but someone else would be. For that reason alone, it should be him.

He sighs. “Alright. His stuff’s locked up here at the station, I’ll bring it home with me tonight and get things ready for him. When’s he being discharged?”

“Tomorrow.”

* * *

“During my hospitalization there was some amount of ambient noise at night to remind me of where I was,” Dale tells him out of nowhere while Harry drives.

“Okay.”

“The nurses’ station was always occupied, so it was a very unique brand of sound - papers being moved, talking quietly, cigarettes being lit. Medical terms in reference to patient care. In the Black Lodge, there were moments of complete silence, which I now have a strong aversion to.”

“So… you want just random noise when you’re sleeping?”

“If it can be helped, complete silence should be avoided, yes.”

“Well, uh, I can put the tv to static and just leave it on all night, would that be good enough?”

“It’s certainly worth a try. If you feel it’s too disruptive I’ll seek alternative methods of grounding myself.”

“Coop, whatever you need to help you feel better, you can have it. Don’t worry so much about how it affects me.”

“Harry, considering that you take such poor care of yourself, at least one of us needs to worry about you so it may as well be me.”

“I don’t take that bad care of myself.”

“Harry… I’m sorry, but since your initial visit to me in the hospital I’ve noticed a consistent odor of whiskey on your person, much too strong to indicate only an occasional drink,” Dale says softly. “And even discounting that, you always look exhausted. It’s concerning.”

“I drink more when I’m unhappy.”

“Yes, I gathered.”

Harry takes a deep breath. He doesn’t normally say this to people. “I have a problem, Coop. It probably won’t go away because it’s been too long since I started having it.”

“I hope you’re not expecting me to say it’s your fault.”

“No. But you probably already figured that out for yourself anyway. I don’t know if it’s my fault or not, and if it isn’t my fault then I can’t tell you whose fault it is. But I’m responsible for it. I don’t show up to work drunk most days and I still do my job.”

“It maintains a semblance of control that you only drink sparingly in your office and save the serious drinking for when you’re at home,” Dale comments, but not in a judgmental way.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I don’t know. Probably not. Besides, you need to focus on yourself so you can get better.”

“Harry I’m not going to get better.” Dale’s breathing stutters. “And I won’t be able to return to the Bureau after this. Every time I put on my suit, I’d be thinking of the Black Lodge, of _Bob,_ of Annie. I’ll be completely ineffective as an agent and torturing myself by attempting to maintain my profession is nonsensical at best.”

“Then what are you gonna do?”

“I haven’t decided. I won’t remain in your house longer than it takes to get my bearings back… the FBI will give me a pension for my years of service and I can use that to supplement potential income. The prices of property here are reasonable.”

“Dale… you can stay with me as long as you need. Everything you had to go through, that’ll take awhile to get over.”

“But I make you uncomfortable.”

“But you’re my friend,” Harry argues. “And I want to help. I want us to - I don’t know, to be okay with each other again, like how we used to be.”

“The expectation of a return to a state of normality is unrealistic,” Dale begins, “but that’s not to say we shouldn’t do our best to get as close as possible. If you think of anything I can do to help you be less nervous around me, please tell me.”

“Okay, if I think of anything, then I will,” he agrees.


	3. Thirty Day Trial

When Harry wakes up on the first morning after Dale’s been released from the hospital, two things concern him: he was just having a nightmare about his fingers getting chopped off, and Dale is asleep on the living room rug three feet away instead of in Harry’s bed where he belongs. For the first time in weeks, though, he’s not hungover - he was too busy situating his friend last night to have time for drinking himself into a stupor.

Nervously, Harry leans across from the cot and shakes Dale until he starts to move and grumble. “Coop… what the hell’re you doing?”

Dale sits up with a groan. “The television static is inaudible from your bedroom. By the way, are you aware that you snore?”

“The couch was right there, you didn’t have to lie down on the floor.”

“Unfortunately the couch is too short for me to comfortably rest on in a horizontal position, I’d have to fold myself up like an accordion to fit. The floor on the other hand provided ample space.”

Harry realizes that even without a hangover he’s not awake enough to deal with this. “Do you want some coffee?”

“Please.”

They both get up and Harry fumbles around in the kitchen, remembering at the last second that he needs twice as much grounds as usual. “So how was the floor?”

“I’m in a state of physical discomfort, but it’s not incapacitating.” Dale folds his hands on top of the table. “Harry… what I’m about to say might be troublesome for you, but I believe what enabled me to fall asleep was the sound of your breathing.”

Harry sets two mugs on the counter. “And now you want me to sleep in the same room as you so that you’re not up all night losing your mind at the quiet.”

“Yes. But I’m also aware that this is a rather unreasonable request on my part.”

“It’s not, Coop. I can just move the cot outside the bedroom door or something.” That way he can still escape if he needs to. “Then if you need something, too, I won’t be that far away.” Dale could kill him and nobody would notice. “I have oatmeal for breakfast… there might be some cold cereal in the back of the cupboard, but I can’t vouch for its freshness.”

“Whatever you’re having is fine.”

“Oatmeal it is.”

“Harry, I promise I won’t kill you in your sleep.”

Harry doesn’t set the container of instant oatmeal on the counter so much as he slams it down. “Don’t do that, please. You need to not do that.”

“Do what?”

“That… thing you do. The mind-reading thing. I need you to not do that.”

“I’ll do my best, but it’s largely involuntary.” Dale sounds baffled and slightly ashamed.

Harry immediately hates himself for making Dale feel bad. “I’m sorry, Coop.”

“It’s alright.” It clearly isn’t. “I expected going in that you would have new boundaries.”

It sounds so hopeless the way he puts it and that just makes Harry even angrier at himself than he already was. “Just… don’t say things like that so much. At least let me pretend that anything I’m thinking is private. I know you were trying to help but it really just makes me more… not okay.”

“Alright. I want you to be okay, Harry.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Dale mimics.

Harry finishes fixing their breakfast without saying anything else. As he sits and they start eating, it occurs to him that Dale being ridiculously on the ball about seeing his emotions in his face is actually a really good thing, because  _ Bob _ didn’t do that. It’s still embarrassing, though, whenever he knows that Dale knows he’s thinking something awful.

“I’m sorry I scare you, Harry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Harry tries to think of something to fix this, a show of good faith. The only thing he can come up with is terrifying for him, but there are no bars here and Doc Hayward said he didn’t take any permanent damage from that concussion. He puts his hand across the table, palm up, and without looking can feel Dale’s surprised eyes following the movement. Fingers slowly move across his calluses.

They hold hands over breakfast.

Dale doesn’t hurt him.

* * *

Nine days after Dale started staying with him, Harry’s pulled from the blissful brain-numbing stupidity of a stack of paperwork by a loud noise coming from… somewhere. He jumps out of his chair to go figure out what’s going on because Lucy is the only other staff member in the station right now. He finds Dale bleeding all over the kitchen.

“Harry do you have a first aid kit?”

There’s glass in his hands, buried in the flesh but also loose pieces that Dale’s holding as he drips red across the floor.

There’s glass in his hands.

Harry almost trips over himself escaping.

There’s glass in his hands.

Glass in his shoulder, he’s bleeding through his shirt but he can’t feel it, a big piece of the bathroom mirror. Glass. Blood. Blood, everywhere. He can’t feel it. Doc Hayward ran to get help when  _ Bob _ attacked him. He’s on his own, he just needs to hang on until Hawk and Andy get here. He can’t feel it. He’s bleeding and he can’t feel it. Glass in his shoulder. He got stabbed but there’s no pain. Blood everywhere. Glass. Mirror glass.

Harry comes to sitting on the floor of the hallway, leaning against the wall and breathing way too hard as he sweats through his undershirt.

Lucy is watching him with huge eyes. “Sheriff? I’m taking Agent Cooper to the emergency room, he’s too hurt for us to fix him here. Is that okay?”

Harry needs a few seconds to remember that language is a thing. The words won’t come to his mouth, so he just nods without saying anything and watches the two of them leave. Dale doesn’t look at him on the way by, just fidgets a little with the sopping paper towels in his palms - he seems like he’s in a lot of pain and there’s probably still pieces of glass jammed into his skin.

Harry slowly climbs up from the floor. He has no idea how he got to the floor in the first place or what just happened to him. Somehow he forgot where and when he was… he heads for the bathroom and splashes water across his face from the sink. Harry hasn’t started drinking yet today (he always waits until after lunch) but already something’s wrong with him. Maybe coffee will help. Coffee usually helps.

In the kitchen again, Harry discovers that - of course - it’s the coffee pot that got smashed somehow. That’s where all the glass came from. They have a spare coffee pot in the cupboard but it’s empty. All the coffee is on the floor and the counter with the glass, mixed with Dale’s drying blood spatter. The place looks like a murder scene. Harry pokes around for some kind of cleaner and wipes everything up, ultimately putting almost an entire roll of paper towels in the trash to go with the glass shards. When the kitchen looks like Dale never happened to it, Harry finds the spare pot and makes more coffee.

It’s over two and a half hours until Lucy brings Dale back. His hands are wrapped with gauze except for the ring and pinky fingers on his left hand and he looks even more miserable than when he left.

“Did the phone ring, Sheriff?”

“No, Lucy, it didn’t. Don’t worry.” Harry makes a  _ come here _ motion to Dale. “I made more coffee.”

They go into the kitchen and Harry pours a mug, which Dale accepts with a grateful noise at the first sip. “Thank you, Harry. This is just what I needed.”

“You wanna come sit in my office for a minute?”

“Alright.”

Harry closes the door, but only because Dale isn’t between him and it. He can still get out fast enough if he has to. “I’m sorry for… what I did earlier. I don’t know what happened.”

“Can I make a guess?”

“Sure.”

“Post-traumatic stress disorder, Harry. A phenomenon first documented on a large scale after the Vietnam war. You have bad dreams, you drink more than you used to, you try to avoid things that remind you of the… various incidents. Now you’re suffering flashbacks.”

“Coop…”

“Harry, I was once assigned a case with a victim who participated in that war… during my investigation it was necessary for me to read his medical and psychiatric history. You have many of the same symptoms he displayed. And it’s completely understandable after everything that’s happened.”

“I drank before this, Coop. I started drinking before I ever met you.”

“I know… but it’s worse now, isn’t it?” Dale asks softly. “You don’t have to answer this, but when did you start drinking in your office at work?”

Harry chokes on his own voice for a moment. “Right after the second time you got out of the Black Lodge. It was when they said you were admitted to the psych section of the hospital.”

“Yes, that’s what I expected.” Very slowly, very cautiously, Dale reaches across the desk and rests his mummified palms on top of Harry’s knuckles. “I’m sorry I keep hurting you, Harry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I’m still sorry.” Dale shifts his grip so that they’re holding hands instead. The gauze is soft against Harry’s skin. “If you want me to go, I will.”

“I don’t want that.” In nine days Harry’s already forgotten how to be alone in his own house. Besides, with Dale around, he drinks less. “It’s still… better than being by myself all the time and nobody else understands… and where would you go?”

Dale nods. “Okay. Then I won’t.”

“But you need to not get hurt again. That was horrible for me.”

“I’ll do my best.”

* * *

Fifteen days since Dale started living with him, Harry startles himself awake during a nightmare and feels his friend’s eyes on him through the doorway. Apparently neither of them are going to sleep well tonight, which seems unfair because at least one of them should.

“Are you alright?” Dale asks.

“Yeah.” No. No, he isn’t. “I just need…”

Harry gets up from the cot and goes into his kitchen - the cupboard over the fridge is his target. But he can still feel Dale’s gaze on him, and when he looks, his friend is there, watching with sad eyes.

“It doesn’t make you sleep. It puts you in an altered state of consciousness. The lack of REM sleep contributes to the hangover and malaise the next day.”

“It shuts up my brain, that’s all I care about,” Harry argues, reaching the bottle of whiskey down for himself.

“Will it help if I relinquish your bed back to you and sleep on the cot instead?”

“No.” He looks for a glass.

“Harry, how can I help you to not drink?”

“You can’t.” He unscrews the cap.

“Harry…”

“What?” He starts pouring. He can’t look at Dale, but this isn’t about Dale specifically… he wouldn’t be able to look at anyone else if they were standing in that spot watching him that way.

“I wish there was something I could do to fix it for you… not only this, but everything else while I was at it,” Dale admits. “Everything. And if I could fix everything you wouldn’t have any reasons to drink anymore. And… and if I was able to do that, then I would also.” Dale audibly chokes. “I would also stop being one of the reasons why you drink.”

Harry’s never seen Dale cry before. It’s ugly.

“Coop, don’t… don’t do this. It’s not your fault.”

“Tell me, exactly, how it isn’t my fault when you still flinch every time I stand too close to you too suddenly.”

“That’s on me. The drinking’s on me, too. Dale, don’t do this. You can’t put all my problems on yourself. It’s not your fault.”

He temporarily abandons his liquor and pulls Dale over for a hug. Harry thinks that what  _ Bob _ stole from Dale was his self confidence, his ability to draw lines between things that are his responsibility or his fault and things he has no control over. Dale didn’t used to be so anxious and sad. All Harry can do is keep telling him it’s not his fault, and that doesn’t even help, it never quite sinks in.

“I’m sorry I’m hurting you, Coop,” he murmurs, rubbing Dale’s back with his palm.

“What hurts me the most is that you’re still hurt.”

“I’m not, there’s barely even a scar…”

“No.” Dale pulls away and taps his fingertips, still wrapped with bandages, against Harry’s sternum. “I’m responsible in a large part for the amount of suffering that still lives here.”

“Coop-”

“Stop saying it’s not my fault.” Dale sucks in a breath and wipes his face on the sleeve of his pajamas. “If I wasn’t at fault we wouldn’t be arguing about it at three in the morning.”

“Dale, it’s not your fault. It’s not your fault that I have nightmares, it’s not your fault that  _ Bob _ did what he did, and it’s not your fault that I started drinking at work. I’m not… Coop, I’m not okay. Do you understand? There’s a lot of things wrong with me. And you don’t make me drink. I actually drink less with you around.” He puts his hands on Dale’s shoulders. “I’m going to feel bad no matter what. So please stop thinking about it so much and go lie down.”

Dale grabs his hands, way too suddenly. Harry yanks away automatically before he realizes what he’s doing and holds them out again, an offering in place of an apology. Dale’s fingers slip through his.

“Harry if you abstain from this one drink tonight, tomorrow I’ll look in another direction and let you drink twice as much.”

“Then how will I sleep?”

“By closing your eyes, first of all. Focus on the way that you breathe for a few seconds after you lay down and count backwards from five hundred each time you exhale. You’ll lose track and sleep before you reach two hundred and fifty.”

Harry only agrees because he feels guilty for driving Dale to tears. He loses track of his breaths after three hundred and twelve and falls asleep two minutes later.

* * *

After seventeen days of “cohabitation,” as Dale calls it, Harry begins to notice for the first time how badly Dale’s still affected by everything. In a way, he did already know this, but it’s only now that he really realizes what’s going on. Because Dale’s interactions with everyone besides Harry are weirdly forced, almost insincere. Dale doesn’t smile his regular smile. Dale doesn’t go off on long-winded rants to anyone who’ll listen about random topics. Dale is working very hard to pretend that he’s alright when - to Harry at least - it’s horribly, painfully obvious how far from alright he actually is. It’s like acting, but sadder.

When he notices this, when he realizes this, he also figures out that Dale hasn’t actually been sleeping. Harry’s not sure how he missed it, but the bags under his friend’s eyes have been growing for almost a week. Being around people exhausts Dale and then he can’t - or won’t - rest at night. A lethal combination.

“Coop, why don’t you sleep?” he asks over coffee in his office that morning.

“I do sleep, Harry.”

“You do? When? Is it when you’re watching me have bad dreams or when you’re here? What’s going on?”

“I recently had a nightmare,” Dale starts to explain, but stops.

“Okay. Do you wanna talk about it?”

“I dreamed that I was in the Black Lodge.  _ Bob _ wasn’t physically present, but I could feel him nearby. Very little happened in this dream but somehow it was implied to me that if I did anything besides stand there, perpetually still in one place for as long as I lived, then  _ Bob _ would kill you. I now irrationally worry that if I sleep I’ll wake up and discover that you’ve been murdered.”

“Coop you know what I dream about?”

“What?”

“My fingers and toes getting chopped off, drowning, you dying, Josie’s face in all the doorknobs of my house screaming in pain, or running around the whole town trying to find you but nobody else even remembers your name so they can’t help me. I drink so that I won’t have those dreams. If you ever wake up and I’m dead, it’s probably going to be because I overdid it and choked on my own sick.”

“Precisely why I’d appreciate you not indulging in alcohol so late at night, and also completely beside the point, Harry.”

“Well, Coop, you need to sleep sometime.”

“At this point in time, I’m not able to do that. I suppose I’ve been waiting to physically collapse from exhaustion, it should be an interesting experience.”

Harry needs a few seconds to think of something he can say to that. “I need you to answer this honestly, Dale.”

“Yes?”

“Should you go back to the hospital?”

Dale stares down at his hands - his fingers just have a couple of band-aids now, but his palms are still dressed with gauze wraps. “I don’t think so. But I suspect that changes need to be made in some capacity. I’m not sure what, exactly.”

“So what should we do?”

“Harry, that’s a damn good question.” Dale finishes drinking his coffee. “As soon as a solution comes to me, I’ll let you know.”

Harry shakes his head. “Coop, I’m sorry, but I’m not just gonna sit around and wait for you to collapse from exhaustion.” He stands up from his desk and gently pulls Dale after him by the shoulder. “We’re going home and you’re having a nap.”

“But you have to work.”

“I’m taking the day off. Come on.”

Harry tells Lucy what’s going on as they leave the station. Hawk can take care of everything for the rest of the day.

“Harry, how do you intend to force me to sleep?”

“I don’t know yet. We’ll figure something out.” They get into Harry’s truck. “Maybe you need blankets that aren’t so heavy since it’s getting warm again, that might help.”

They toss different ideas back and forth over the drive but nothing sounds right. Harry doesn’t have a clue how he’s going to help Dale sleep better, but he’s pulling them into the driveway, so he has to come up with something fast.

Dale puts on a clean pair of pajamas - on the very first day, right after he got out of the hospital, Harry had bought him eight new sets of pajamas in order to never see the blue ones again. The pajamas he wears now are red and white striped, like a candy cane except vertical. Harry watches Dale climb into bed and decides, very impulsively, to kick off his boots and sit on the other side of the bed.

“Harry-”

“Go to sleep, Coop. I’m just gonna sit for awhile.”

“Won’t you be uncomfortable?”

Harry rolls his eyes, but gets up again and changes out of his uniform into an old undershirt and a pair of ragged sweatpants. “There, happy?”

He doesn’t sit on the bed again, instead lying on his back and reaching over for Dale’s hand. In return his fingers are squeezed a little, so he figures once it feels like Dale’s relaxed he can probably get up and do other things. Dale’s always talking about being “grounded” by familiar things in order to stop him from losing his mind, maybe this will “ground” him long enough to sleep peacefully. Harry again wonders how he didn’t notice the fact that Dale’s doing exactly as bad as him at coping with what  _ Bob _ did to both of them, but in a horrible way it’s almost satisfying to know that somebody else is suffering just as much as he is. If only that somebody else could be anyone besides Dale. Dale doesn’t deserve this.

“Harry, you’re tensed up and obviously miserable, it’s making it very difficult for me to relax.”

“Oh. Sorry, Coop.”

“It’s alright. Maybe you should take some deep breaths.”

“How did you used to relax?”

“Through meditation… but that’s no longer a method of self-regulation that I can use. Every time I’ve tried since my second entry to the Black Lodge, visions of  _ Bob _ appear in my mind’s eye.”

“So what makes you feel calm now?”

“Small, strange things… the way coffee smells. Eating donuts. Some very specific but familiar sensations, usually. Or hearing you talk. That calms me at times.”

That gives him an idea.

“Hold that thought, Coop.” Harry gets up and goes into his living room to rummage the bookcase until he finds the textbook he kept from his college English class… he held onto all these back then because he figured he’d have a family someday and then his kids wouldn’t have to buy all the books all over again, and after finding out that it didn’t actually work that day and textbooks change he’d just never gotten around to tossing them. He brings it back with him and lies down again. “This is the most god damn boring thing you’ll ever hear, Coop.” And starts reading from the very first chapter.

Dale falls asleep in eight minutes, still holding his hand.

* * *

It’s been twenty days since Harry took Dale home when he realizes that he’s already in the routine of sleeping on the same mattress as his friend. He doesn’t know how, exactly, somebody would find out about this, but it worries him. He’s afraid of what might happen if the wrong person learns that he sleeps in the same bed and under the same blankets as another man. It would probably be worse than if the whole town had found out about Josie when he was still with her, or if they learned now about his mostly-unchecked binge drinking. Because they both fall off into their respective nightmares side-by-side and holding hands… most people don’t do things like this.

The reason he realizes this and starts getting nervous about it - he wakes up this morning and they’re not holding hands. Instead Dale at some point rolled sideways and snuggled right up to him. His friend’s head is under his chin and there’s an arm around his chest, and everything about this situation couldn’t possibly be more wrong if it tried.

But Dale’s sleeping.

Dale doesn’t sleep well anymore.

Harry shouldn’t wake him up, it would just be cruel.

The really stupid thing is that Dale looks so vulnerable like this, limp and blank-faced with several seconds between breaths. But somehow it’s vulnerable in a cute way, because during the rare opportunities Harry’s had to watch people sleeping beside him, he’s always found it cute how they look. And it’s also kind of… validating. Dale’s been through so much since he came to Twin Peaks, between getting shot and held hostage even before Windom Earle and the Black Lodge. It’s amazing he trusts anyone or anything after all that crap was thrown his way. But he trusts Harry. He trusts Harry so much, even though Harry almost killed him with one punch to the wrong spot.

So Harry holds still, doesn’t jostle his slumbering friend. He’ll let Dale be vulnerable for a little longer, because Dale trusts him. Harry will lie here thinking about how his friend is cute like this, in green plaid pajamas with just that one tuft of hair sticking up on the side. The bandages finally came off his hands two days ago and the scars are small; they’ll probably go away completely within a year or so. For now there’s tiny red marks all over his palms and the undersides of his fingers. Harry can feel those when they hold hands and it bothers him a little.

Dale makes a quiet noise in his sleep - he does that sometimes. Harry is also, apparently, not supposed to wake him up when he makes those noises, because nightmares or not Dale needs to sleep. He explained that to Harry very patiently and carefully two afternoons ago. So he keeps holding still and lets Dale dream, for better or worse.

Harry’s alarm clock goes off and he waits until Dale starts moving and grumbling to silence it. “Morning, Coop.”

Dale starts to sit up, opens his eyes - and panics. He falls over himself scrambling off the bed and winds up doing a face-plant on the floor. “Harry, I’m so sorry, I never intended to-”

“Jeez Louise, Dale, aren’t you the one always telling me to take deep breaths? I think you need to follow your own advice. Did you hit your head bad?”

“I… no, I don’t believe so.”

“Good. What the hell’s gotten into you?”

“I expected you to be more upset. But you seem mainly confused instead.”

“Yeah, I am, because I’ve never seen you act like this.”

Dale nods slowly. “Many people, especially other men, would be offended at waking up in such a position.”

“Coop you really thought I’d get mad because you accidentally cuddled me in your sleep?” Harry’s trying very hard not to laugh, because this is just too weird. “I read to you and hold your hand until you fall asleep. I give you hugs when you get upset.  _ I took you here to my house when you just got done being a mental patient. _ Why should this piss me off, huh?”

He doesn’t answer right away. “I’m going to brew some coffee.”

Well that’s… unusual. Dale seems really spooked about this somehow. “Okay. Coffee’s good. What do you want for breakfast?”

“Toast is fine.”

Harry has eggs in the fridge, so he cooks French toast instead of regular toast because maybe it’ll help Dale feel better. He makes a mental note to buy more eggs after work today, and maybe some maple syrup if he decides to keep doing this. Dale, meanwhile, practically inhales two mugs of coffee as soon as the machine stops dripping and from the expression on his face burns his entire mouth in the process.

“Okay, Coop.” Harry puts the plate in front of him. “What’s going on here?”

“This is a subject I’m uncomfortable discussing,” Dale says quietly. “Harry… please know going in that my expectations of a negative reaction come not from your behavior and disposition, but from the behavior and disposition of society as a whole. You’re aware of what happened with Caroline, and of my brief romantic involvement with Annie Blackburn.” He takes a breath. “I was very excited the first time I had a crush on a girl… at the time, I was twelve years old, she was a year older than me if I remember correctly. Unfortunately even in the modern age it’s still a foreign concept to most people that it’s possible to be attracted to more than one kind of person. I first had a crush when I was ten, on my friend Daniel from school. It was difficult for me, due to an unpleasant experience that I won’t describe at this time. For this reason, I try to have clear boundaries in place when displaying platonic affection to people regardless of how close I am to them. And this morning I violated that boundary. It was accidental, but I’m still disappointed in myself.”

That’s… a lot, and Harry hasn’t actually drank any coffee yet. It takes him way too long to come up with an answer to this.

“But why did you think I’d be mad?”

Now, Dale looks exasperated on top of embarrassed. “Most people would be.”

“Am I most people, then?”

“…no, Harry, you aren’t. But I also explained at the beginning that this has little if anything to do with you.”

Harry finally gets the pot of coffee away from Dale so he can have some for himself. The first sip is gratifying and he can feel the life coming back into his body. He sits and takes a few bites of breakfast, then notices that Dale isn’t doing the same thing and points his fork at the plate. “Aren’t you gonna eat?”

“I find it difficult to believe that you’re going to sit there and enjoy your breakfast without addressing a single thing I’ve just said.”

“Coop, I’m gonna be honest: I’m just not awake enough for any of that to sink in yet. Give the coffee a chance to start working first.”

Harry finishes his meal, unconcerned with the shock-load of information that just got dumped on him. He sorts it out in pieces as he chews, and after he’s done eating a question comes to him that just won’t go away while he shaves and gets dressed.

They talk about it some more in his truck while he drives. “So… you’re not gay.”

“No, I’m bisexual.”

“Okay.” Harry nods. “Have you slept with other guys?”

This is, as far as he knows, the only time Dale’s ever been irritated at him. “Harry I’ve fallen asleep on your left for the last three nights… however I suspect what you’re really asking is whether I’ve had sex with other men in the past.”

“Well… yeah.”

“I have, but rarely. I’ll answer no further questions on that topic.”

“Okay then.” Harry takes a deep breath and gathers his words, trying to mentally duct tape them into something coherent before opening his mouth again. “Coop, I’m not gonna get mad at you for something like that. I kinda wish you didn’t just assume I would be, but I get why you’d probably think that about anyone and not just me. But… I know this isn’t exactly the same, but look at Norma and Big Ed, or when I was with Josie even though not that much time passed since her husband died. I know a thing or two about how it is when everyone tells you not to love somebody but you do anyway. Next time give me a little credit.”

Dale nods. “Alright, I will. Thank you, Harry.”

“You’re welcome.”

* * *

The afternoon of the twenty ninth day since Dale stopped being a mental patient, there’s a phone call to the station which somehow gets Dale holed up in the conference room, yelling loudly enough to be heard through the door but not be understood. Harry sits in his office and speculates while he tries to get some paperwork done about a group of drunk and disorderlies that happened at the Roadhouse last night. He has a quiet sense of irony that he tosses back his third shot as he writes. It’s a bad day for him, he’s drinking more than usual. Dale might have to drive them home tonight.

Hawk comes into his office without knocking and Harry scrambles to hide the evidence of his failings as a human being, but it’s too late. “What’s gotten into Cooper over there?”

Harry shrugs. “Beats me. He got a phone call, that’s all I know.”

Hawk eyes him. “Harry, I’ve been trying to mind my own business about this, but did you maybe consider not keeping bottles of liquor in your office?”

“I’ve tried to cut down on it a little,” he offers, knowing how pathetic he probably sounds. “I’m just having an off day today. It won’t be so bad tomorrow.”

“It’ll still be bad tomorrow, and you know it.”

“Deputy Hill, I don’t actually remember asking for your advice,” Harry snaps before he can stop himself. He’s already drank too much in too short an amount of time. “Shit. Dammit. Hawk, I’m sorry, I… maybe I should go eat something.”

He’s already had lunch, but there are crackers in the kitchen. He tears open a sleeve of them and has some with jelly, and on the sixth cracker Dale appears to have yet more coffee.

“That was Gordon,” he says before Harry can even ask. “He received my letter of resignation in the mail this morning and he’s going to send me the rest of the paperwork so that I can get my pension from the Bureau.”

“That explains all the shouting.”

Dale opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. He doesn’t say anything and takes a sip of coffee instead, but Harry can see there are words there trying to get out. He sighs.

“What is it, Coop.” He’s pretty sure he already knows the answer.

“Why are you drinking so much today, Harry?”

“Something’s bothering me.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. Something.” They go sit in his office. “Maybe you should drive home tonight.”

“That seems like an excellent decision. Harry… I think it’s time we thought about getting you some help. I worry for the state of your liver, as well as your overall health.”

“What help?” Harry snorts. He doesn’t want to talk about this. “There is no help, Coop.”

“There is. But we’ll have to go looking for it. Harry, you’ve said yourself that you have a very serious problem. It’s a good sign that you’re able to admit it, many people can’t. But there needs to be steps taken at this point to try and start solving that problem.” Dale starts counting on his fingers. “It affects your work, it affects your health as I’ve already said. It affects your relationships with others. There are many people who love you, here. I can guarantee they’ll be unhappy if you continue to destroy yourself this way.”

Normally, Dale speaking quietly like this to him is reassuring, almost soothing. Right now it just grates on him like everything else. He’s starting to get angry for no reason the way he does sometimes when he’s drunk.

“I think I should go home early today.”

Dale nods. “I think you should, too.”

“I thought you were gonna stop doing that, Coop.”

“Harry, believe me when I say I can’t help it and I would certainly stop if I could just for you.” Lucy is informed and they go back home, where Dale sits him on the couch and makes him eat a sandwich. “Harry, I would like you to observe the clock.” It’s taken off the kitchen wall and shown to him. “The current time is quarter after four. You’re henceforth forbidden to touch a single drop of whiskey until exactly three hours have passed.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re dangerous when you get too drunk,” Dale informs him bluntly. “I would be in an elevated state of fear regarding your health and safety. Besides that, it’s also not helping anything.”

“It does help, it makes me stop thinking so much.”

“Yes, but there are other methods that achieve an identical outcome without the unnecessary side effects.”

Harry wants to put his fist through something. Somehow he manages not to. He knows, deep down, that he’s not mad at Dale. Mostly he’s mad at himself for being this weak and pathetic. He doesn’t know anybody else with this problem. There’s just him, going home from work early because he can’t stop drowning himself in liquor, as if he’s somehow not elected into his position and therefore doesn’t stand to lose his job completely by doing things like this.

Dale stands still and watches him while he sits there, probably reading all his thoughts in his face like always.

“Coop I told you to not do that anymore.”

“Harry, please try to relax.”

“I can’t.”

“You can. Think of more pleasant things… tell me about playing football when you were in school.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. “Um… okay. I played quarterback, Ed and Hank were on my line. I wanted to play in college and go pro eventually like most football kids do, but I broke my arm and that ended up not happening.”

“Imagine if you’d made it… you’d be retired and rich somewhere now,” Dale muses, sitting on the couch beside him.

“I don’t usually regret it, actually,” Harry admits. “I wanna think this is more satisfying… besides, I get a lot less hurt in law enforcement than I ever did on the field.”

“Is football so aggressive?”

“I can’t believe you just asked me that, aren’t you an American?”

“Not all Americans watch football, Harry, and in fact most of us don’t play sports competitively as children. When I was young I would watch baseball and hockey with my father, the Flyers came into being when I was eight years old.”

“Hockey, huh?”

“Yes. As a teenager I mainly enjoyed it for the fistfights. After I left home my life was substantially more hectic and I fell out of the habit of enjoying sports due to a chronic lack of downtime.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“It is in a way, I suppose,” Dale agrees. “Until March, my life was filled by my profession, and especially after Caroline I forgot how to enjoy most things outside of it.”

“That’s terrible, Coop. I’m sorry.” He pauses. “You still miss her?”

“Yes, but it’s not as strong of a pain as it used to be. I’ve learned to cope and there are worse things.”

Harry thinks immediately of Josie, which still hits so hard sometimes that he almost starts crying at random inappropriate moments. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“Not to argue, Harry, given that for you this particular brand of pain is still relatively fresh, but I live in fear of the possible realization that  _ Bob _ has somehow returned to wreak havoc through my hands. I would propose in that case that there are, technically speaking, worse things.”

Okay, Dale has a pretty good point. “That’s most of your nightmares, right?”

“Generally speaking. You’re often present as a target.  _ Bob _ was very interested in killing you, Harry, but purely as a means to torment me. If you weren’t so important to my life, it’s very likely he would’ve left you alone. I made you into this target and I feel guilty each day for doing so, however inadvertently.”

Harry reaches over and squishes Dale into his side. “I don’t know if this’ll make you feel better, but if  _ Bob _ got me instead then you’d probably be his first target.”

Dale smiles broadly at him. “Harry, I have to say, I’m honored.”

They both start laughing.


	4. On Snuggling And Chickens

Harry’s stopped counting how long Dale’s been in his house by now… it’s been just over a month, but the number of days has stopped mattering so much. It’s home to them, him and Dale both. His friend lives here. That’s pretty much the long and short of it now. Harry doesn’t mind. It’s nice, not going to sleep lonely like he did for so many years. Someday he should thank Dale for that when they both can actually sleep for more than a couple hours at a time without waking up from gut-wrenching nightmares.

The thing is Dale’s still in trouble. He still pretends to be more okay than he is around anyone except Harry or Doc Hayward. He still looks mildly afraid whenever they have to drive through the woods. He still has bad dreams of stabbing Harry to death with kitchen knives. He still can’t bear to go places by himself, to be around either loud noises or prolonged silence, to speak to Albert on the phone for more than four minutes at a time. (That last one is a huge hassle, because Albert calls a lot, trying to convince Dale not to quit the FBI.) But Harry can’t begrudge him any of these things. Dale’s problems are different from his problems, but they stand in solidarity together on the fact that neither of them is anywhere close to being okay.

However, none of this is a good explanation for what happens Saturday morning.

Harry fell asleep sooner than he meant to. It was only supposed to be for a few minutes, then he would roll over and keep to himself on his own side of the damn mattress. Because letting Dale cuddle him that one time had been nice, and Dale had been making those small noises again that meant bad dreams. So maybe if Harry cuddled him he’d be grounded or whatever and have better sleep. He’d spooned around Dale and closed his eyes for all of five minutes, and now look where they are.

“Good morning, Harry,” Dale says to him, sounding unconcerned and even amused.

“Morning,” Harry answers, very awkwardly and a lot less thrilled with this development.

“I’ll give you enough credit to assume you won’t start lying and telling me that this was accidental.” Dale definitely sounds like he’s trying not to laugh.

Harry starts to choke. “I thought it would help…”

“Well, it has. This is far from an unpleasant way to wake up.”

“No, I meant… your nightmares…”

“I’m not upset with you, Harry.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m upset with me.”

“Why?”

Because Dale wasn’t supposed to find out. Because he’s been trying not to inflict his loneliness on his friend. “Because… doesn’t this cross that line of yours?”

“Not necessarily. I didn’t initiate this contact and I at no point told you to stop.”

“Coop-”

“Shhh.” Dale pulls Harry’s arms to wrap around him more securely and Harry can feel his smile even without seeing his face. “You chose this, so you should lie here and enjoy it for a few minutes.”

Harry tries to relax and do as he’s told; when’s the last time he got to lay on his bed holding somebody, lazily wasting minutes on a Saturday morning? He doesn’t think he even got the chance to do this with Josie, so… years, probably. Gradually he feels less uncomfortable after it finally sinks in that Dale’s not uncomfortable about it. They stay still for awhile, just breathing against each other for no reason except that Harry wanted Dale to sleep better. Neither of them says anything because there’s nothing really to say about this. Friends can cuddle each other if they feel like it. They’ve been through a lot together. There’s no more concepts of “normal” left to them after everything _Bob_ ’s done, so this can be part of their new and unique brand of “normal”.

Fingertips stroke the back of one of his hands and Harry doesn’t notice himself closing his eyes and pressing his face against Dale’s neck until he’s already done those things. Dale doesn’t flinch away or tense up, so Harry forces himself not to flinch or tense either. This is… normal. For them it’s normal. Dale is always an affectionate guy, even before the Black Lodge, with barely any concept of personal space. This doesn’t bother him. Harry’s in the clear.

“Harry, you’re overthinking,” Dale murmurs.

“Pot meet kettle, Coop.”

A chuckle. “Alright, touché. It’s alright, Harry. Don’t think about it.”

So Harry doesn’t think about it. Instead he thinks about the English textbook from his sophomore year of college, how he reads the most boring parts of it every night out loud to lull Dale off to sleep. Yesterday he had a very random thought that he’d pay good money to lie back for awhile and listen to Dale read something, anything, to him for even a few minutes. Dale has such a smooth, charming voice and whenever Harry’s not already drunk and agitated he likes hearing it as long as it’s not expressing pain or fear.

Unfortunately, this extended period of calm has to end and give way to the inevitable eventually.

“Sorry, Coop, I need to eat.”

Harry pries himself away from Dale and gets out of bed to make them breakfast. He can’t remember what’s in his fridge but he doesn’t think there’s very much, maybe apples and some eggs. When he looks he discovers some cheese - omelets. They’ll have to go to the store today. Dale makes coffee while Harry fries up their simplified omelets - he has no onions - and then chops up the apples into slices. The exact opposite of a fancy breakfast, but Dale never minds, partly because he can’t cook at all and the one time he tried he managed to burn whatever it was so bad that Harry ended up throwing away the whole pan.

“Harry, it’s imperative that you know I appreciate your efforts to stem my nightmares.”

Harry nods. “You’re welcome.”

Dale’s in a very good mood this morning, because he gives Harry a huge smile and keeps talking. It’s almost like how things used to be. “Incidentally, while I’m aware that my intuitive nature has been making you uncomfortable at times lately, I understand exactly your thought process from earlier and you should know that I’m not opposed to this becoming commonplace. You may snuggle me to your heart’s content going forward.”

Harry’s face and ears get hot and he immediately stops making eye contact. “Oh. Uh. Okay then. I just felt weird about it…”

“Yes, I know. You have no reason to.”

Dale reaches across the table and they hold hands over breakfast.

* * *

Harry taps his fingers against his desk while his other hand writes up the paperwork about some kids setting off firecrackers in people’s mailboxes. Last week Dale came up with the idea to count how many drinks he has at work and how many he has when he gets home. Now, each week, he’ll have one less drink per day at work until he can get down to zero, kind of like how smokers quit their cigarettes. Once he can get down to zero drinks at work, they’ll do the same thing at home until he stops that, too. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but he’s still got three hours to go before his work day ends and he’s having a hard time. It’s all he can think about, counting the minutes until he can go home and crawl into a bottle of Jack Daniels.

“Sheriff, Agent Cooper is back from his appointment.”

He taps the button. “Thanks, Lucy.”

Dale comes into his office and sits. “Harry, you seem distressed. Maybe you should take up smoking or heroin to get your mind off it.”

“Look at you, making jokes at my expense over there.”

Dale grins. “I anticipated this… I can inform you on no uncertain terms that eventually this will become easier for you.”

Harry shakes his head. “How about we don’t talk or think about it for awhile… you look like your appointment went well.”

“It did indeed. Dr. Hayward and Dr. Jacoby have both noted a significant improvement over two weeks ago.”

“Huh. So cuddles are a miracle cure for the after effects of demonic possession. Who knew.” They’ve been doing that kind of a lot lately after the first time, since it made Dale so happy. And not just sleeping, either, but also cozying up on the couch sometimes while watching tv. Dale started improving almost immediately when this became part of their routine so Harry’s happy to do it. “Now if they could just make things so easy for me, too, we’d be golden.”

“Harry, you need some hobbies,” Dale informs him. “What do you find enjoyable?”

“Fishing, hunting.” Harry shrugs. “I used to have chickens, but they all died awhile back. I like to go hiking sometimes.”

“Those all sound like excellent distractions from your current predicament. The thought has recently occurred to me that the two of us staying in one place being miserable together is in no way beneficial to your overall mental and emotional state. We come here, we occasionally run errands, or we stay at home. There should be other things besides just those. So, after work today we’re going to discuss it more thoroughly and pick one of those hobbies you just listed to take up the spare time you would otherwise spend becoming intoxicated.” Dale folds his hands on top of Harry’s desk. “However if you decide to start going hunting again, you should know this is an activity I’ve never engaged in and you’ll have to teach me.”

“You know you can hunt black bears in the fall.”

“Really?” Dale looks intrigued. “Have you ever killed one?”

“No, but my dad did once when I was a kid. Got it turned into a rug and everything. He still has it.” Harry thinks for a second, focusing around his brewing headache. “Deer season’s not ’til fall, but we can go shoot coyotes any time we want.”

“Is coyote popular to eat here? I’ve never heard of that before.”

Harry chuckles. “No, you don’t eat them. I guess you could if you wanted, but most people don’t. Usually they get shot by farmers protecting their animals. It’s more like a public service than a hobby to go coyote hunting.” It’s kind of a nice mental image, Dale out in the woods with him bundled up in flannel and carrying a shotgun. Harry will definitely have to take him hunting this autumn. “In the meantime, since it’s not fall yet, we can go fishing instead.”

Dale nods. “Hopefully with considerably less turmoil than my trip with Major Briggs.”

“Yeah.”

* * *

“Alright, be careful not to hurt yourself, there’s probably a lot of splinters just waiting to get into your fingers,” Harry warns as they head out back with the tools.

“And it’s impractical to simply repaint it and affect minor repairs?” Dale questions.

“I haven’t been taking care of it… it’s been almost five years now since the last ones died and I never thought about getting more,” Harry says. “So, all that rain and snow… wood’s all rotten by now.”

Time and space stop existing for the most part after that. Harry’s entire focus is taken up by prying apart nails from boards, unstapling wire mesh, piling up the remains of the chicken coop as it’s slowly dismantled. He’ll have to run all this out to the dump afterwards. Dale, despite his aversion to birds, suggested that Harry should get more chickens on the grounds that if he’s forced to take care of living things it’ll help him take better care of himself while he’s at it.

“Will we rebuild it from scratch?” Dale asks as they take up the plywood floor.

“Yeah. I think I’ll only get four or five to start with, but we’ll build the coop bigger than that in case I want to have more later. It’ll be a lot longer building the new one than taking this one down, though, just to warn you. That’ll wait until next weekend as long as it doesn’t rain.”

He’s going to have chickens again. Fresh eggs for breakfast and shooting coyotes if necessary like they were talking about a couple days ago. He’ll teach Dale not to be afraid of his girls, to feed and tend them alongside him. It seems like a good goal to work on: help Dale stop being scared of birds.

When’s the last time Harry made plans for his future like this?

Sure, it’s a small thing, four or five hens to start with. But he’s already reconfiguring so much brain space for it, fitting it back into his life. More importantly, fitting it back into his life around the spot Dale takes up. But despite everything he’s glad Dale takes up that spot. As he loads the scrapped remains of the chicken coop into the back of his truck, it occurs to him just how entrenched his friend really is. If Dale left tomorrow, Harry would never find anything to fill that gap, and he’d just be left with another gaping emotional wound to go with all the others. He hopes Dale stays in his life forever, to go fishing with and to be irrationally afraid of harmless winged animals and to cuddle up with on the couch. His world is so much brighter with Dale in it.

“Are you feeling introspective today, Harry?” Dale asks, tossing in an armload of junk.

“Yeah, I guess.” He sighs. “Coop…”

“Yes, Harry?”

“I… thank you. Not just for this, for - I guess everything. For trying to help me straighten myself out again even though you’re still messed up after _Bob._ You’re a good friend.”

Dale smiles his best smile and puts both hands on Harry’s shoulders. “Harry, believe me when I say you never have to thank me for this, and I could say exactly the same thing to you. It seems we’re each more interested in each other’s healing process than our own.”

“No, I meant…” He puts his hands on Dale’s wrists, but not to move them away. “I guess I just realized how pointless my life would be if you weren’t here. If something maybe happened to you in the Black Lodge. I might’ve just come to a stop if you didn’t come back.”

Dale squeezes his shoulders, then pulls him in for a hug. Harry has a tiny moment of panic, but he’s gotten better about stomping those down and lets himself be embraced without flinching.

“Harry, you’re going to be alright eventually.” Dale rubs his back. “And your life isn’t nearly as empty as you seem to think it is.”

Harry nods, then snorts. “Okay, what’ve I told you about the mind reading?”

“I try my best, Harry, but it’s inevitable.”

They finish loading up the truck after that and Harry checks his fence - he hasn’t really been taking care of that either, but he doesn’t have the time or energy to rebuild that too. The problem is his last chickens got eaten by predators. He sighs.

“Coop, I think I’m gonna have to get a guard dog.”

“Why?”

“The last time I did this, my birds got turned into a midnight snack for some coyotes. Actually, that happened a couple of times. I know a guy out in Snohomish who trains dogs, but now I’ll have to spend more money on that.”

“I can help you pay for it,” Dale offers. “I’ll start getting my pension soon.”

“Thanks, Coop.”

* * *

Harry ends up not having any chickens until July. Between building the coop and getting his new guard dog situated - a golden retriever German shepherd mix named Gunner - he didn’t have space to do it earlier. But this morning, he finally has chickens again, and has dragged Dale out of bed early to get the eggs with him.

“You have to get the eggs every morning,” Harry explains. “And sometimes they’ll even lay eggs underneath the coop, so you should check for that, too.”

“Underneath?”

“Yeah, they like small dark places.” Harry hands him the basket and they go into the fence. “Don’t worry, they won’t peck you. They’re usually pretty quiet unless you do something to spook them.”

Dale stands stiffly by the fence and looks nervous while Harry feeds his new girls. They’ll remember him soon and start greeting him with clucks and squawks each morning, and he’ll have to remember to get some blueberries for them every so often. He starts to tell Dale about that, but when he looks over his friend is frozen with terror as one of the chickens walks right up to inspect this stranger.

“Coop, they won’t hurt you, I promise,” Harry laughs.

“Harry I don’t like birds,” Dale answers in an almost brittle voice.

“You’ll be fine,” he promises, still grinning as he goes into the coop to start gathering up the eggs. He takes two in each hand and goes back over to Dale, who’s no longer being held captive by a curious hen. “Come on, Dale.”

The eggs are piled gently into the basket and once that’s done Dale almost runs to get out of the fence and bring them inside. Harry leaves in way less of a hurry and opens a can of food for Gunner before heading back into the house. Gunner’s not really a pet, but he gets along with Dale and the chickens, which is all Harry needs from him. It was a little weird taking him to the Lydecker clinic for rabies shots, though.

“So, you’re still alive after that horrible encounter,” Harry teases in the kitchen as they drink coffee.

“Ornithophobia is one of the most common types of anxiety.” At his blank look, Dale says, “The fear of birds, Harry.”

“Ah.” Harry finishes eating his toast. “You’ll get over it, Coop. You know they recognize whoever takes care of them? So pretty soon they’ll start to like you, especially if you give them blueberries and fresh crickets.”

Dale nods, taking in the information before sipping the last of his coffee. “Harry, I’ll make the greatest effort possible to learn to cohabitate with your chickens. They’ve done wonderful things for your mental state since you decided to get them, and for that they have a fair amount of respect from me already. I believe that this project is largely responsible for your decreasing problems with alcohol as well, which is directly related. Put simply, Harry, you need to be needed, even if only by five hens and a dog.”

“And you.”

“Yes, and me. You’ve had the most direct hand in my continuing recovery process. However it’s a well-documented fact that keeping animals has immensely beneficial effects on human beings. The same can be said for gardening as well, both tasks are tangibly rewarding.”

“Yeah, well… having animals is also a good substitute for people who can’t have kids,” Harry comments as they both finally leave the kitchen to get dressed.

“Was that a life plan of yours that fell through?”

“Yeah, I think… yeah. By this point it’s probably too late, I’m forty three now. My only chance would probably be to find someone who already has kids, and that doesn’t even really count.” Harry pins his badge and nametag to his overshirt and lays it out on the bed as he talks. “I know you looked at some houses when you were suspended.”

“I did. Naturally the case interfered with those plans. I have no intention to leave Twin Peaks, so it seems unlikely I would be able to get married, either. Not unless some other beautiful stranger moves here and I find a way to overcome my current state of reclusiveness and anxiety.”

“The problems of a small town,” Harry muses, not quite bitterly. “Everyone already knows everything that’s wrong with you, so your only chance at love is meeting someone when you’re still young.” He frowns. “There’s really nobody here you could ever see yourself settled down with, Coop? You’re not from here and you’re a handsome guy, most people like you.”

Dale’s answering smile is beyond hopeless. “Harry, for your information there is a resident of Twin Peaks who I’m quite interested in, in a romantic sense. However I’m unable to delicately approach the subject.”

“Why?”

“For starters, extreme homophobia tends to be present in rural communities.”

Ah, right. Dale sometimes likes men, too. Harry somehow keeps forgetting that. “Okay, well… Coop, you know, if you ever change your mind and decide to go for it, I’ll always back you up if you get a nasty surprise.”

Warmth and softness creep back into Dale’s smile. “Thank you, Harry. I’m unable to express how appreciative I am of that at this time.”

* * *

Harry’s about to fall asleep when Gunner starts barking.

Great, some more damn coyotes. He wishes they would learn their lesson from him blowing the head off one last week. He jumps out of bed and into his boots, grabbing the shotgun and sprinting outside in his pajamas. Thank god it’s still summer… this is going to get real old real quick come November. But when he gets outside, there are no coyotes.

What there is, actually, is a beat-to-hell Dodge Ram with a front license plate that’s all bent out of shape.

Harry slumps, letting go of the shotgun with one hand and rubbing his face with it. “Frank, what the hell, it’s eleven at night!” he groans as his brother gets out of the truck.

“You got chickens again,” Frank observes, walking over. He’s in his work clothes, for some reason. “What’s your dog’s name?”

“Gunner. What in god’s name are you doing here at this time of night?” Harry demands a second time.

“It takes that long to drive across the entire state.”

“Well, why didn’t you call and tell me you were coming?”

Frank’s expression can only be described as melancholy. “Dad died yesterday.”

Harry almost drops his shotgun. He swallows. “Oh.”

They go inside and Harry puts his gun away, then pours two shots of whiskey and they both drink. He hasn’t been having as much of it lately and this is all he needs right now, a god damn family tragedy to screw him up again.

“The funeral’s gonna be sometime this week,” Frank tells him. “And then we find out which one of us gets which of his guns and fishing rods.”

“Great.” Harry rubs his face with both hands and sits at the table. “So… how’d it happen?”

“He just didn’t wake up one morning, I guess maybe he had a heart attack in his sleep or something.” Frank looks around Harry. “Who’s this?”

Right. He gets to explain the functional disaster that is his life to his brother now. “That’s Dale, he’s a friend of mine. He’s staying here while he gets his life back in order. You know the evil that lives in the woods up here? It got him, now I’m helping him out.”

Frank holds out his hand. “Frank Truman.”

“Dale Cooper.”

They both sit at the table with Harry.

“So this friend of yours sleeps in your bed too, huh?”

“Frank, it’s not what it looks like,” Harry snaps.

“I don’t feel safe by myself,” Dale volunteers. It’s not exactly true, but the truth is embarrassing and complicated.

“Ah.” Frank nods, then looks at Harry again. “Will you be able to leave right away?”

“Yeah, I’ll call Lucy in the morning and let her know what’s going on… Coop, can you take care of the chickens on your own? I have to go to a funeral, I’ll be gone a few days.”

“Yes, I can manage that.”

“Good. If coyotes come sniffing around and Gunner wakes you up, it doesn’t really matter if you actually hit them, the noise from the shotgun should be enough to scare them off. Just don’t shoot Gunner by accident.”

“Harry, I’ve been trained in a variety of firearms, not just handguns. I know the function and operation of a shotgun.”

“Good. The dog takes a can of food in the morning and a can of food at night.”

“Yes, I know. I’ve seen you feeding him.”

“Will you be alright here by yourself? I can call and make sure you’re okay when I get there.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“Okay… I’ll leave my truck here in case you need anything.”

“Thank you, Harry.”

He sets up the cot in the living room so that Frank can get some sleep, and lying down himself his eyes won’t stay closed. His dad is dead. At the funeral they’ll probably bury him next to Harry's mother. She died just a couple years ago, her funeral was very pretty and Harry hated it at the time. How dare it be so pretty when everything he felt was so ugly.

“Harry, are you going to be alright?” Dale murmurs; he’s quiet enough that Harry almost doesn’t hear him, especially facing away towards the wall.

“I thought you were sleeping.”

“I’m not. Are you going to be alright?” Dale asks a second time.

“I don’t know,” Harry admits. He presses his face a little against the back of Dale’s neck, and even though it’s an accident he doesn’t feel bad for doing it. Not with all the other perfectly good reason he has to feel bad right now. “This is my dad… he taught me to hunt and fish and… Jesus, he taught me how to do _everything._ He used to be the sheriff here, then Frank. Then my dad moved across the state for who knows what, and Frank went too to look after him. Town ended up in my hands. First couple years I was always calling him to ask for advice.”

“Harry, I’m so sorry.” Dale’s fingertips stroke one of his hands. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Just take care of my animals while I’m gone the next few days.”

“Gunner likes me, he often tries to lick the underside of my jaw.”

“Yeah, dogs do that. I bet he knows you’re the one who paid for all his shots.”

“Your girls don’t like me as much as Gunner does.”

“The girls all love you, Coop. You know chickens can recognize faces. They know who you are, they know you feed them blueberries whenever I force you to.”

“I still can’t be counted among the number who enjoy the company of birds.”

Harry cuddles his friend closer to his chest. Just when his life seemed to be getting back on track, something else had to take a left turn, because that’s how the world works. But at least Dale will look after his chickens for him while he’s gone. He’s so glad Dale’s here.


	5. Timber State

“So how was the funeral?” Hawk asks, coming in and sitting on the other side of his desk.

“Typical.” He wonders why it took his deputy until almost the end of the shift to ask about this before he remembers that he had to send everyone out to deal with a bear eating out of a dumpster that had half the town in a panic. “I got his medals from World War II and half his rifles.”

“How you holding up?”

Harry shakes his head. “It’s a good thing Coop took all the booze out of my desk.”

“Where is he? I haven’t seen him today.”

“He stayed home, he wasn’t feeling well.” A massive understatement. Dale couldn’t sleep for more than an hour or two at a time while Harry was away and over the phone kept talking about having nightmares of being shot again. “I’m gonna bring him a whole pie from Norma’s after work today.”

“I had a strong feeling this might happen,” Hawk admits. “He drove up and sat in the station the way he usually does, and each time we saw him he looked more and more like a walking ghost.”

“He wants it to go away,” Harry says, almost to himself. “He wants to think it doesn’t affect him anymore, but it does.”

“And you?”

“Once in awhile he’ll still startle me by accident.” He leaves out the flashbacking. It’s embarrassing and nobody knows about it except Dale and Lucy, and besides it happens less than once a week now. “It doesn’t matter. Everyone has some kind of problems in their life, right?”

“Sounds like Cooper’s not the only one who won’t admit he’s worse off than he seems from the outside.” Dammit. Harry always forgets that Hawk knows him too well. “Harry, it’s okay for you to not be over it yet.”

“It’s been months, Hawk. I don’t want to keep talking about this.”

“Scars can be left on the spirit just as on the body,” Hawk comments. “They shrink and heal over time. Some never go away completely. You and Cooper have many of those scars, and ignoring them doesn’t make them go away. Scars on your mind are different, you have to look after them.”

“Yeah, I know that.” Harry glances at the clock. “This is real fun for me and all, but-”

“Yeah, go take care of Cooper. Make sure you remember to take care of yourself while you’re at it too, Harry.”

They both leave his office and Harry immediately heads for the Double R to buy an entire cherry pie for Dale. When Harry got back home yesterday night, Dale had given new meaning to the expression “looking like death warmed over”, so Harry’s going to stuff him with pastries and do whatever all else is necessary to get him feeling better again. Norma gives him a brief hug to go with the pie and tells him she’s sorry for his loss, which he’s sure he’ll hear another thousand times by the end of the week. At least when he gets home Gunner doesn’t try to sympathize the way people do. Harry just gives him his dinner and they leave each other alone.

“Coop?” Harry calls out as he closes the door behind him. “I brought you something.” He finds Dale sitting on the corner of the bed, hands tucked into his armpits and shaking with exhaustion. “Have you moved at all since I went to work?”

“No. Not that I recall.”

“Okay. Dale, be honest, are you absolutely sure you shouldn’t be back in the hospital?”

“I question exactly what they would be able to do to fix me there, Harry.”

It’s a good point. Harry sighs.

“Alright. Let’s get you some water.”

They go into the kitchen and Harry makes Dale drink two glasses of water, then feeds him a sandwich and a slice of the pie. He doesn’t even have to ask for an explanation before Dale starts talking.

“I took good care of your girls while you were gone. I killed two coyotes, and Hawk took care of the remains for me. While I was present at the station, I encountered very few difficulties. But here, I’m very isolated, aside from Gunner and the chickens. At times I had the sensation of the woods bearing down on me, and it was like being trapped in the mouth of some large beast waiting to be swallowed. Alone, I have no sense of safety. It’s too quiet here without you, which is why I slept so poorly.” Harry pulls Dale into a hug and Dale lets him do it. “You’re my safety, Harry.”

“Coop, you’re safe here even if I’m not around, I promise.” Harry squeezes him a little. “I think you’ll get it back someday, you’ll feel safe again.” He notes Dale squeezing back and it’s reassuring. “Maybe I should’ve brought you to the station like I usually do.”

“No, it wouldn’t be helpful for people to witness me in my current state.”

“Yeah, okay.” Harry lets go of him. “I think you should have a nap, Coop.”

They both put on pajamas and Harry spoons up behind him like always. Dale still shivers, even though it’s August, so Harry pulls him in closer until he starts to relax. It won’t be that long before he’s asleep, and after that Harry can either sleep too or be bored out of his mind. That’s okay. He wants his friend to feel better.

Dale mumbles things as he gets further and further away from the waking world. The very last thing before he drops off into sleep is so quiet that Harry’s sure he doesn’t hear it right: “I love you.”

Harry can’t have heard that right… or maybe he did hear that right. It’s not especially weird. Albert said that to him once, too. Apparently every current and former FBI agent is just strange this way.

* * *

“It’s abundantly obvious why every car license plate calls it ‘the timber state’,” Dale comments as they walk.

“Yeah, it’s like that on purpose,” Harry jokes. “This way we can lure in unsuspecting strangers and trap them here forever with promises of coffee and pie.”

Dale laughs. “Your trees are incredible, Harry. Almost as incredible as the coffee, the people, and the pie. There are many things I’ve fallen head-over-heels in love with here.”

“Yeah, all those things and some mysterious guy you won’t tell me about,” Harry snorts. “I heard you talking about it to Gunner last night when you were supposed to be feeding him.”

“Gunner is an amazing listener, Harry.”

“Did he have any advice?”

“Nothing substantial. He’s not much of a talker.”

“Coop, why don’t you just tell me about this guy, and maybe I can help you. Or maybe find a girl you like instead so that it’s less complicated.”

Dale, for once, looks impossibly annoyed when he says that. “Harry, it doesn’t work that way. I had no say in the matter.”

“Okay then. So who is he? Anyone I know?”

“He’s highly intelligent and incredibly handsome.”

That’s not an answer and Harry rolls his eyes. “Coop, just give me his name.”

“I’d prefer not to at this time, largely due to the fact that I’m still experiencing difficulty reconciling myself to the fact that I have these feelings. It’s very unfair, especially given the current state of my mental health. I would argue I have more than enough to worry about as it stands.”

“Yeah, especially since you keep downplaying to everyone how bad off you are.” Harry has no idea why he said that. He’s not trying to pick a fight with Dale. They’re supposed to be out enjoying nature.

“Harry, please, it’s counterproductive to give the full details of my current… condition to everyone that I know.”

“You lie right to Dr. Jacoby’s face and tell him your nightmares are down to once a week. They’re still three or four times a week at least.”

“Well, Harry, I’m not saying this to be combative but you lie to Dr. Hayward when you tell him you only do two shots a night instead of three. So I’d argue we’re both equally guilty.”

Dale’s so busy being right about something that he’s not paying attention to his feet, which means his boot catches a rock and he goes sprawling forward. Harry just barely catches him by his arm.

“Careful there, city boy,” he chuckles.

Dale, apparently not capable of being embarrassed, just smiles brightly the way he always does in reply. “Thank you, Harry. You saved my face from an urgent meeting with the forest floor.”

“You’re welcome. I think most of us want your face to stay the way it is.”

They walk the rest of the way holding hands so that Harry can keep him from falling again if need be, but thankfully Dale doesn’t trip a second time. They let go when they come to a break in the trees where their goal sits: a tall, grassy hill. Dale mentioned this recently to Harry when talking about something he’d like to do that would be utterly, completely pointless just for the hell of it. Harry’s pointless thing that he talked about would be paddling a boat a little ways out onto a lake and then drilling a hole in the bottom just to see how long it would take to sink - in this idiotic fantasy of his, he would’ve made sure not to go out so far that he couldn’t swim back. Dale had found it absolutely hysterical, and yet his pointless thing is so much wiser and makes so much more sense than Harry’s pointless thing… to lay in the grass on a hill in the sun. Pointless. But somehow very meaningful and important, because everything about Dale is meaningful and important.

Climbing the hill in question, Harry watches Dale and tries to think… “highly intelligent and incredibly handsome”. Is Dale in love with himself? Because he’s the only one Harry can think of who matches that description.

Dale glances at him. “Harry, the object of my affections is a topic immaterial to our purpose here today, so please stop thinking about it.”

“Cooper, for god’s sake, stop reading my thoughts,” Harry groans.

“I’d be able to abstain from doing so more easily if you’d only make it more difficult for me, Harry. You wear your heart on your sleeve.”

“I don’t think that’s true, Coop. You can see right inside everyone’s heads.”

They save their breath for going up the hill after that and sit side-by-side once they hit the top. Harry watches Dale lay back into the grass, then close his eyes and smile. It’s a good thing they hosed themselves down with DEET before doing this, otherwise he’d probably be crawling with ticks.

“This exercise was absolutely worth the time and effort,” Dale declares, folding his hands on top of his chest and sighing deeply.

“If you say so, Coop.” Harry doesn’t lay down, but still looks up at the sky. The clouds are like pulled-apart cotton balls.

“Harry, I’m going to ask you something that may sound random, but I’d like you to be honest when you answer.”

“Okay…?”

“When you first met me, what exactly did you think of me?”

“What, the first time in the hospital?”

“Yes.”

“Uh… something kinda like, ‘are all FBI men this weird?’ And also that you were way more friendly than I was expecting. I actually thought you’d be more along the lines of how Albert is.”

Dale chuckles. “The ones like me and the ones like Albert are both few and far between. Most agents are, to quote an acquaintance I bunked with during my training, starch-assed killjoys with personalities like sawdust.”

Harry bursts out laughing and finally does lie back, but mostly because he can’t hold himself up when he’s like this. It takes forever for him to catch his breath again - he never expected anything like that to come out of Dale’s mouth.

“Well, at least they sent me the one good one. And then you ended up staying here after. Lucky me.”

Dale turns his head and meets Harry’s eyes, wearing an unusual smile that’s very soft and otherwise unreadable. “Yes, Harry. You well and truly stole me from Gordon and the rest of the Bureau.”

“Dale…” He tries to say something but completely forgets how to use words. His head hurts, it really hurts.

Eyes.

Dale’s eyes, but they’re wrong. The distortion is there. Harry’s face goes slamming into the bars of the cell.  _ Bob _ is snarling at him. He gets pulled by his arm a second time, it wrenches on his shoulder, he makes impact and it’s even harder than the first hit. Harry screams for Hawk to come, to come save him. The demon yanks him forward, sneering at him with the face of his best friend. He gets hauled backwards before it can happen again. There’s blood running from his nose into his mouth. All the walls run laps around his head as he hits the floor. He feels as strong as wet tissue paper and there’s a railroad tie through his forehead.  _ Bob _ sits and laughs at him without noise.

When Harry comes back to reality, he’s sweating so much it’s like he got in the shower with his clothes on and he’s breathing like he just sprinted up a mountain. He’s in Dale’s arms, getting stared at with concern. Probably not a great decision on Dale’s part, because now he’s almost definitely soaking with Harry’s sweat, too.

“Harry, are you going to be alright?”

Even after however many hundred times this has happened, Dale still asks him that question when he comes out of it.

“I’d be better with a fresh shirt,” Harry says, because he can never really answer Dale. It’s going to happen again, and again after that. They both know it. They both know Harry’s not okay and maybe he never will be. “Can we go home?”

“Yes, absolutely. Can you stand?”

“I think so, yeah.”

They walk back holding hands, but this time it’s for completely different reasons. Harry has all the usual emotions about this - shame, guilt, fear, anger, hopelessness, the urge to drink an entire bottle of Jack Daniels in one sitting. But underneath those is a new one that he doesn’t understand and can’t explain… he feels like this particular flashback ruined an opportunity for them.

* * *

“Coop-”

“No.”

“It’s driving me crazy.”

“It’s also exactly none of your business, Harry. The only reason you’re so intrigued is because the idea of men being attracted to other men is so foreign to you and you’re anxious to study this abnormal phenomenon in person.”

“Can you stop acting like a high school girl and just tell me?”

“I would argue that by continually hounding me about this, you’re much more akin to said high school girl archetype.”

“Coop, just tell me.”

Dale gives him an exasperated sigh. “Harry, to be perfectly honest, I’m sure that if you thought long and hard about it, you’d be able to figure it out for yourself without me having to say another word on the subject.”

Something about this is making Harry nuts, but if anyone asked him he wouldn’t be able to say what. He isn’t usually like this. It’s like having an itch in that spot between his shoulder blades that he can never reach, but instead of a normal itch it’s poison ivy.

“Dale, if you’re not going to tell me, at least go and talk to this fellow already so you can stop being so damn miserable about it.”

They pull into the parking lot of the Double R and Dale grumbles something about conflicting parameters as they get out of the truck, but he’s being quiet and Harry’s not paying attention to him anymore so he doesn’t catch more than three words of it. They order their dinner to go from Norma, including pie of course, and while they sit waiting for their food Harry tries to come up with a more convincing argument to use on his friend.

Then Sarah Palmer comes in, and immediately distracts them.

“Agent Cooper.” She still looks so sad. Harry can’t blame her at all for that. “I haven’t seen you for awhile.”

Dale nods. “Well, I’ve tended to make myself somewhat scarce in the last couple of months. How are you, Mrs. Palmer?”

Now she starts to look slightly afraid. “I’ve had… had some of those waking dreams again. What happened to Leland… it happened to you, too, didn’t it?”

Dale swallows visibly. “Yes,” he whispers. “It’s a frightening, humiliating experience.”

“But… you’re still alive.”

“Only because I had outside help. If I wasn’t in the presence of friends who understood exactly what was going on, it’s highly likely I would’ve succumbed as well.”

Sarah reaches over and takes one of Dale’s hands between both of hers. “I’m sorry you had to go through it too… at least you’re still here.”

“It’s alright. Thank you, Mrs. Palmer.”

They take their food and go, driving back in silence. Their childish squabbling over Dale’s mystery crush feels a lot less important now after once again facing someone who’s lost everything that matters. The idea of what happened to Sarah Palmer is still horrifying and something that Harry tries to avoid thinking about. He could’ve lost a good friend, his best friend, to that same evil. Every time he remembers that, he feels like he’s being stabbed in the chest and sometimes it makes it so he can’t breathe.

Harry pulls over to the side of the road and they switch places so Dale can drive. This isn’t the first time they’ve had to do this. Apparently there’s even a word for it: panic attacks. It stops Harry from doing anything, even talking. It’s like a flashback except not, because he can still see the real world, he just can’t be part of it. These don’t happen as often, but they’re more frustrating because they last longer. All he can do is stay in one place, paralyzed, and fear everything around him. Nothing helps. Nothing takes him out of it quicker. Harry just gets stuck on this one feeling.

Dale takes them back and they sit in the driveway for almost ten minutes before Harry can think or move again. Thank god he noticed what was happening and managed to get into the passenger seat… he’s only had to drive through one once, and it ended up with him doing double the speed limit and almost flipping his truck at every turn.

“Harry?”

“Yeah.”

Dale nods when he answers. “Let’s go eat.”

Harry sits inside staring quietly at his meal while Dale vanishes briefly to feed the dog out back. It’s a weird combination of things - he’s had a panic attack today, even though nothing bad or weird happened at work, and this is after he had a damn flashback two days ago. On the other hand Sarah Palmer always knows  _ Bob. _ She walked right up to Dale and held his hand, she talked to him, she wasn’t afraid of him in the slightest. So now… now, Harry knows for absolute certain that Dale is free of that nightmare. He’s witnessed proof of it firsthand. It’s only this idea that makes him relax enough to start eating. Because Dale is free for sure.

Dale is free.

Maybe someday Harry can be free of this, too.

Maybe eventually they can both be okay.


	6. Incoherent Wisdom

If Dale’s noticed how weird Harry feels right now, he’s showing no sign of it. Which is strange all by itself, because usually Dale just knows. Harry still tries to feel less weird whether Dale realizes or not. He doesn’t want to push his luck.

“All set?”

Harry locks the tackle box and nods. “Good to go.” He gives Dale a thumbs-up and they both head out to his truck.

It’s overcast and not very warm out today, despite only being the very beginning of September, so they’re both wearing flannels and have extra thermoses of coffee to make sure they stay comfortable. They’re only going as far as Black Lake for this trip. But Harry’s not thinking about any of that. Instead, as he puts the truck in gear and they pull onto the road, his mind is on the dream he had last night. It wasn’t a nightmare, but it sure wasn’t normal.

He was sitting on the counter at the Double R, which for some reason was green instead of its regular color. He was waiting for a bowl of soup and Dale was the one serving up food to everyone. Harry sat and waited and eventually shouted but Dale was always pulled away by other customers, or maybe he was ignoring Harry. Finally he came over and hugged Harry. “It’s the wrong kind of soup,” he said. “I had to pour it out. You can have dessert instead, but then you’ll have to pay for it.” So Harry kissed Dale.

In the dream, it made perfect sense. Waking up, Harry realized he was thinking about kissing Dale and panicked the whole time he was feeding his chickens.

Now, it won’t get out of his head. He wonders how it would feel to kiss his friend. However many weeks back, climbing the hill, Dale said someone smart and handsome. Harry’s not quite either of those things, but god he wishes he was and now he’s finally figured out that he’s always wished that. He’s so damn dense that he didn’t realize until this morning that the reason it bothered him so much not knowing who Dale’s mystery guy is… is because he knows it’s not him. Harry wants it to be him. He wishes he could be so smart and so handsome just for Dale.

“Harry, you seem pensive,” Dale remarks once they’re there and unloading the fishing stuff.

“Weird dreams last night.”

“Bad ones?”

“No, just… weird.”

They go out on the dock and sit, finishing their coffees before getting in the boat and heading for the middle of the lake. There’s just enough wind to be annoying, but the water should still be okay.

“Harry, it’s time,” Dale announces after a few minutes of silence.

“For what?”

“I’m going to describe to you the person who’s caught my interest.”

This is the worst possible timing Dale could’ve picked and Harry works hard to put on a brave face. “Okay, go ahead, Coop.”

Dale seems to be studying him, and it’s almost unnerving now.

“Harry, the first thing you should understand is that I don’t lose my heart to someone easily, but when I do it happens much more quickly than I’d like. I’ve also recently discovered that if the target of my desires is… inaccessible, I will ultimately settle for a secondary interest, as was the case with Annie Blackburn, no insult to her. That’s not to say I have issues with commitment. I don’t.”

“Okay.” Harry nods. “So you fell in love with this guy when, exactly?”

“Very shortly after I met him.” Dale reaches over with the hand not holding his fishing rod and straightens out Harry’s shirt collar. “I saw right away that here was a good, honest, kind soul, very hardworking and loyal. Each time I see him, he reminds me of all the wonders in Twin Peaks that I’m so enamored with, regardless of his personal flaws and struggles. And I’ve learned a great deal from him during my time here.”

Harry glances out at the lake. “Sounds like he’d be good for you.”

Dale’s still staring at him, very pointedly. Harry can’t keep eye contact with him looking like that.

“He’s very good for me.” A pause. Dale leans into his space and murmurs: “Harry, you have no reason to be so upset. Please just say what you’re thinking.”

Harry takes a breath. “I… Coop, I…”

“It’s alright.”

“…I wanted it to be me.”

Dale smiles, very softly and gently. “But Harry, it  _ is _ you.” And leans in the rest of the way to kiss him.

Harry’s whole brain short-circuits and for the first second or two he kisses Dale back without even realizing that’s what he’s doing. He doesn’t remember closing his eyes, either. A lightly scarred but otherwise soft palm rests on one side of his face briefly, the slides forward a little so the fingers can burrow gently into his curly hair. Dale is thorough but tender, and gun to his head Harry would probably say this is in his top three best first kisses he’s ever had with somebody, if not the best. Dale tastes like coffee and smells like trees mixed with expensive deodorant. Harry still doesn’t get how he didn’t notice until this morning, but there’s no doubt left in his mind that he’s in love.

Their foreheads rest together after, breaths softly touching each other’s faces. Even without opening his eyes yet Harry can feel Dale smiling, and that makes him smile, too.

“Thank you for an excellent kiss, Harry.”

He chuckles. “You’re welcome.” He has questions, but they can wait. “This is what I dreamed about.”

“Personally I find my dreams to be a subject of scientific curiosity when they’re not nightmares,” Dale says. “But I also believe that, even in the ordinary dreams of ordinary people, there’s often hidden wisdom that goes unnoticed because the spectacle of these dreams distracts from it.”

“Yeah.”

“Harry I’d like to kiss you a second time.”

“Go right ahead, Coop.”

So Dale kisses him again. Harry can already tell they’re not going to catch a single fish today, but right now, he doesn’t care.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: Michael Ontkean once starred in a movie in 1982 (I think) playing a closeted gay man that was apparently very progressive for the time. It wasn't a hit back then but I saw good reviews for it on IMDB, so it seems like it's worth checking out at some point. Even more incredibly he gave up a career in the NHL to be an actor... because apparently in Canada you can choose from multiple options to be rich famous fat and happy. This is me over here totally not being jealous that this hockey player had the option to be an actor instead.
> 
> ADDENDUM. I have now watched that movie. It's honest, heartbreaking, and charming. Michael Ontkean is great in it. The movie's title is "Making Love" and I can see why 1982 didn't like it, because it's a good gay movie.
> 
> There was some stuff that didn't make it into this story... for one thing more of Hawk doing his best to pound some sense into Harry (but in a nice way), and for another Harry noticing Cooper's long girly eyelashes because Kyle MacLachlan has such pretty eyes (at least he did back then). Also a line that goes something like "Dale has no right to be so handsome." Oh well.
> 
> ADDENDUM. Now with a sequel, detailing Cooper's stay in the psych section of the hospital: [Your Problems Are Nobody's Fault But My Own](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21867487).
> 
> All my Twin Peaks fics can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=127943&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=Aaron_The_8th_Demon).
> 
> Please comment, it will seriously make my day if you do.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Broken Marionette](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21612256) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account)
  * [Scablands](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26077318) by [Eighty_Sixed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eighty_Sixed/pseuds/Eighty_Sixed)




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